Reborn From my Ashes
by Tartan Queen
Summary: Sequel to "What Albus really saw in the Mirror of Erised". Story 2 of a series, I hope. It's about Harry Potter, but with a slight twist. Rated T because I'm not sure how this story will run its course. Please read and leave a review!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is a sequel to "What Albus really saw in the Mirror of Erised." You don't have to read that story first, though it might be helpful. Returning readers, you are in for a treat! Enjoy.

Oh yes, and let's not forget the Disclaimer: I don't own an ounce of Harry Potter. None, I repeat.

Michael woke up the next morning in a slight daze. Sunlight was streaming copiously into his bedroom, and for an instant, he did not recognize where he was. Then, turning his head into his pillow, he breathed in a familiar lemony scent. Smiling sleepily, he turned his face to the door that was slightly ajar. Albus was watching him with a kind, loving smile, and his eyes twinkled merrily.

"Good morning, Mikes. Sleep well?"

Michael beamed. It was so different living with his Mum and Dad instead of with the Dursleys. Michael no longer woke to the sensation of spiders crawling on his arms, or the elephantine rumbles of his enormous "cousin" Dudley, or the tickling unpleasantness of sawdust from the cupboard under the stairs. Albus crossed over and sat at the edge of the bed. Rumpling Michael's untidy black hair, he offered a lemon drop to Michael.

"Hi Dad. I was just having the best dream ever. You were with me, and Mum was there too. We were alone…in a field of daisies."

"Well perhaps some sherbet lemons might bring the dream back," Albus replied, winking impishly. "Just don't tell your mother…"

"Tell me what, Albus?" Minerva had walked in, her eyes flashing dangerously. "If you offer Michael another lemon drop, I shall have to…"

"No, no, sweetheart, I wasn't!" Albus pleaded, hastily stuffing the sweet back into his pocket, mentally making a note to give it to Michael later.

"Have to what, Mum?" Michael asked curiously.

Minerva chuckled and sat on Michael's other side. Reaching over and prodding his nose gently with the tip of her finger, she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Relax, Mikes, I was just teasing. Although Merlin knows your father has done this enough times to make me…_sorely _tempted."

Michael grinned. Fumbling for his glasses, he found them devoid of the usual Spellotape and looking brand new. Michael felt his throat grow slightly constricted, funny that he should grow emotional over this small thing, and he looked over to his parents.

"Thank you," Michael whispered quietly, holding out his slender hand to both of them. Albus gripped it and Minerva covered Albus' hand with her cool one. The sunlight streamed in; it was a beautiful day.

Until…

A burning, acrid scent reached their nostrils. Minerva whirled around and ran downstairs to the kitchen. She didn't have anything cooking yet, so what could that horrible smell be? She skidded to a halt and instantly narrowed her eyes.

Apparently, Albus had gone out of his way to make breakfast for the three of them. However, he was hopeless with kitchen magic and the bacon and eggs that he had fried on the stove now resembled a lumpy mass of charcoal. Pausing only to select a few of her choicest Scottish swear-words, Minerva seized the pan and magically scraped the mess off.

Albus had meanwhile sheepishly slunk into the kitchen behind Michael. He knew he was in trouble. Minerva whipped her head up so fast to look at Albus that her neck audibly cricked. Clenching her jaw, she ordered Michael to leave herself and Albus alone. Michael, wisely, noticed the McGonagall death glare and backed away quickly. But not quickly enough.

"**ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE**! Do you ken what you've done? I dinna suppose you thought to consult with me on how ta scramble eggs! Look at this mess!"

"Minerva, please, please, I can explain…"

"Oh, you can, can you, ye old coot?"

Michael winced at the raging argument, dominated by his mum, and, knowing he was going to run right into fire, he stepped back into the kitchen.

"…ye barmy old codger, I…I'll…" Minerva had reached such a state that she was rendered incapable of speaking coherently. Her voice was thick with Scottish brogue. Her face was flushed and her eyes snapped ferociously.

"Please stop, Mum and Dad. It hurts me when you two argue. Look, I can fix this; we can all eat. Please sit down." Michael approached hesitantly and touched Minerva's sleeve. She looked down at him in surprise and gave a single nod. Behind her back, Albus breathed a sigh of relief and mouthed "_Thank you_" to his son.

Albus and Minerva both took a deep breath. Both looked rather sheepish now. Minerva lowered her pointing wand and smoothed her wild black locks back into her ponytail. Albus lowered the broom that he had taken as a shield. They watched as Michael expertly flipped the bacon and scrambled the eggs. Soon, the enticing aroma reached their senses and Albus sniffed appreciatively. Carefully pouring the coffee, Michael carried two cups to his parents. Setting one down cautiously in front of his mother, Michael started when Minerva placed a gentle hand over his.

"This looks delicious, love. I didn't know you could…"

"Cook? Yeah, I did the cooking every day at the Dursleys. They never acknowledged it, but I did overhear Dudley saying that I cooked better than his mum. I suppose I got my cooking gene from you, Mum." Michael smiled wryly and took a bite himself.

"It's a good thing you didn't inherit my temper, Mikes. That's what people say is my worst trait," Minerva said ruefully, raising her coffee to her lips.

Albus smiled across to Minerva and lightly brushed his fingers across her knuckles.

"But that's precisely why I fell in love with you, Minerva love. You're the only person who can get Aberforth to calm down and act halfway civilized."

"No, not even halfway. Aberforth's just plain crazy."

"But what about me, dear? I thought there was many a time when you called me…ah, what was it? A barmy old codger."

"You're different, Al."

"I'm glad you think so. You wouldn't have me any other way, would you?"

"No."

The three of them finished their breakfasts in silence afterwards. Minerva noticed that Michael never ate much; he mostly watched them while he picked at the eggs on his plate. She furrowed her brow in worry, but decided that Michael could eat more later.

After they finished, or rather, Albus and Minerva finished, Michael stood up to take their plates. Minerva stopped him with a gentle touch on his wrist.

"I can do it, sweet." Minerva collected the dishes and waved her wand to clean them. Using a "Scourgify" spell, she had the dishes clinking merrily as she wiped down the table. As she brushed back a few strands of her trailing black hair, Minerva straightened up and arched her back briefly. Albus watched her with love; she bore a remarkable resemblance to her animagus tabby cat. Winking at Michael, Albus purposefully shifted his long legs so that they were slightly in Minerva's path. Frowning, Minerva swished past him and slapped the cold washing towel against his legs, causing him to retract immediately. Minerva smirked; Michael choked back a laugh.

Albus leaned closer to Michael. Using a stage whisper, he said:

"Women at their time of month, son, are even more unpredictably vicious that a Venomous Tentacula."

"**Do not start on that, Albus, if you wish to keep yourself intact and out of harm!**"

"Yes, ma'am."

A/N: What do you think? Please press that inviting "Review" button and make someone (me) very happy! Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Michael sat at his desk later that day, having completed a particularly nasty essay on recognizing certain poisons for Snape. He dipped his quill into his inkpot, and finished the last sentence wearily. Rubbing his eyes, he pushed his essay farther away on his desk and slumped down, closing his burning eyes. He was so tired that he did not bother removing his round glasses. Within seconds, he was out cold.

Minerva meanwhile had climbed the stairs gracefully and stopped at her son's doorway. She saw his lamp burning lower and lower, and his head resting on his arms. She called his name softly.

"Michael? Michael, darling, it's time for dinner."

There was no response. She quietly approached him and kneeled next to him. Stroking his black hair with her long, elegant fingers, she again whispered his name. He stirred groggily and raised his head. His eyes were dull and shadowed with fatigue.

"Huh?"

"Michael, sweet, you fell asleep. It's time to eat. Come on, I made your favorite."

"Oh. I…I'm…just…so tired. I think I'll…"

"Get something to eat, Michael. You haven't eaten much today yet." Minerva fixed her son with a piercing stare and he reluctantly giggled. He slipped down and ducked from her hand. She laughed and followed him downstairs, where Albus was already waiting for the both of them.

"Nothing burned for dinner, Mike," Albus said cheerfully, grinning bashfully at Minerva; she twinkled her eyes, letting Albus know she forgave him for this morning's breakfast disaster. Michael laughed. He waited until Albus and Minerva were seated before he lowered himself into his chair. Minerva squeezed his hand gently and waved her wand. Three platefuls of scrumptious food carefully whizzed their way.

"Michael, your Dad and I want you to be happy here, all right?"

"I am, happier than I've ever been, Mum," Michael replied truthfully. He quickly lowered his eyes and attempted to discreetly brush his tears away. Albus noticed this, but declined to point it out to Minerva, who was looking at their son's bent head. Albus stroked his Minerva's cheek and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well…I'm hungry, aren't you both as well?"

"Oh, um, yes." Michael reached for his napkin and shook it out. Minerva nodded and raised a forkful to her mouth.

A slightly tense silence followed, but Albus hummed quietly into the silence. At last, Michael spoke again, in a tremulous whisper.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering…could you tell me more about what really happened? Mum told me briefly…during school, and I was hoping that…I…"

"Oh, of course, Michael," Albus said seriously, placing his fork by his plate. Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but stopped.

"You see, Michael, eleven years ago, Voldemort emerged from the dead, avenging his downfall by seeking out the only way he could regenerate his broken soul: by committing an atrocious act of evil. He vowed to hunt you down, the reasons for his motivation is unclear, and ultimately kill you. Your mother and I…we decided, to protect you, we would put…"

"A Blood Protection Charm." Michael breathed, looking into Minerva's tear-filled eyes. "Yes, I heard. It would link my blood to Mum's. As long as her enchantment lived in my body, Voldemort could never really harm me." He rose from his seat, unable to bear seeing the pained expression on Minerva's face, and hugged his mother tightly. She returned his embrace; her tears fell into his hair.

"Yes." Albus replied quietly, watching them sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Michael. One day, when you're older, I will tell you more."

"I'm sorry that I caused you pain, Michael, and years of abuse." Minerva cupped his face in her cool palms and brushed her fingers across his lightning-bolt scar.

"I am just happy to be with you again, both of you."

"We love you, son."

/-/-/-/-/

The candlelight brightened in the small cottage as dusk settled in. At precisely 9:30, Minerva wordlessly summoned Michael to his bedroom. Albus was already upstairs, folding back the light coverlet, and looked up when they approached.

"Ah, sleep well, Mikes. I'll see you in the morning." Albus bent down and gave Michael a light kiss on the forehead. Michael momentarily brought his arms around Albus' shoulders and buried his face in the tart, lemony scent of his robes. Then Albus released him, patted Michael lightly on the shoulder and left.

Minerva closed her eyes briefly when Albus touched her cheek. She gazed into his sapphire blue eyes and gave a terse nod.

"Now, Michael, into bed. It's been a long day."

"A great day…" Michael mumbled sleepily with a drowsy smile. His eyes half shut while still looking at her. He quickly fell asleep. Minerva smiled at him and gently removed his round glasses from his slightly crooked nose, placing them on his bedside dresser. Brushing his messy hair over his scar, she pressed a kiss into his forehead.

"Love you…Mummy…."

"I love you, Mikes," Minerva whispered. She crossed over to his desk and noticed his essay for Snape lying curled on the desk. She blew out his candle and softly closed his door.

/-/-/-/-/

Albus was waiting for Minerva with a mug of steaming Earl Grey tea in his hands. He smiled widely when he heard her light footsteps approaching their bedroom. He stood up and faced her with a hopeful smile on his face.

"I thought you might enjoy a cup of tea and…a game of chess with me, dear."

"Oh, Albus. That would be lovely, thank you."

Minerva accepted the tea and lifted the cup to her lips. Her eyelashes swept downward and she sighed happily. Albus stood behind her and gently massaged circles into her shoulders. Minerva loosened her ponytail and a cascade of raven colored hair washed over Albus. He chuckled and nibbled softly at her neck.

"I've never seen you as happy as you are these days, my love."

"I have all the reason to be, darling."

"Do you?" Albus leaned closer and breathed in slightly.

"Yes."

Albus closed the distance between them. Minerva set down her cup of tea. Thus began a kiss of passion, of temperament, of enduring love.


	3. Chapter 3

Days passed into weeks. Weeks blurred into months. Michael had never known himself to have a better summer. Soon, the bright, burning month of July arrived, tingeing the air with the heady scent of summer primroses. Michael opened his eyes and blinked up at the calendar propped against the books on his desk. His stomach gave a little jolt. It was his birthday today.

Michael had never really had much of a birthday back when he lived with the Dursleys. They generally ignored him and forced him to make their breakfasts. Whenever Dudley got presents on his birthday, or during Christmas, or just because the Dursleys loved rubbing it into Michael, Michael could not suppress a tiny regret that he was not with his real parents. Of course, that was before he knew Albus and Minerva. Thus, Michael was slightly hopeful to see what Albus and Minerva would do for him today.

He swung his legs over his bed and quickly got dressed, scrutinizing himself in his mirror. Michael smiled at his reflection when he saw how clearly he resembled Minerva. His green eyes raked his messy black hair and rested on his jagged lightning-bolt scar. As he traced the pale pink scar, he could not help feeling that his two worlds-the life he had with the Dursleys versus the life he cherished now with Albus and Minerva- had come to a merge and reconciled themselves.

As he pulled a T-shirt over his head while descending the stairs, Michael stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the kitchen. His green eyes widened at the sight of a towering mountain of presents . . . presents he dared not hope were for him. Instantly, he was transported back to the day of Dudley's birthday one year ago: Michael remembered cooking the bacon for breakfast, pouring Vernon's coffee, trying not to spill it as Dudley hammered the table bellowing that he _only _received 36 presents . . .

Michael sighed into the silence that pervaded the room and headed to the kitchen to prepare this morning's scrambled eggs. He had to smile slightly when he remembered the charred remains of Albus' disastrous attempt at cooking the first day he got to their cottage. He whipped the eggs and poured it into the pan. While adding the seasoning, Michael sensed, rather than heard, Minerva's soft presence. He turned around and, indeed, there she stood, looking like a goddess with her black hair flowing around her shoulders.

"Uh . . . hi, Mum. I . . . "Michael stared down sheepishly at his shoes, feeling her intense gaze on him.

"Happy Birthday, Michael love," Minerva said softly, crossing to where he stood and lifting his chin. As she did so, a streak of golden sunlight fell across her son's face, over one of his eyes, edging his green iris with golden streaks. She stroked his cheek affectionately and turned to see Albus grinning face emerging from behind a Muggle camera.

"Albus! I thought I told you no pictures . . ."

"But it turned out wonderfully!" Albus protested, clutching the developed photo to his chest. Michael turned off the flames on the stove and walked over to see the picture. He smiled when he saw the picture: it did not move like the wizarding pictures, but there was a certain magic about it nonetheless. Michael tentatively held out the picture to his mother, who took it with a slightly mollified expression. Her keen eyes softened into love when she saw the picture. Turning around quickly, she tried to pass off brushing her slightly wet eyes by smoothing her sleeves. Albus, having known her for as long as he had, approached her hesitantly and gently touched her hand.

Minerva took a deep breath and turned around, making a mental note to add the newest photo to the photo album she intended to give Michael today later. She waved her wand and instantly, kippers, toast, and marmalade appeared. She set the table and soon called for her husband and son to sit.

"Save some room for dessert, Michael," Minerva said, giving him a gentle pat on the hand.

Michael opened his mouth in confusion. "Dessert after breakfast?"

"Your mother and I made . . . " Albus started to say, but quickly shut his mouth as Minerva gave him a piercing, dagger-like glare.

"Not now, Albus!"

Michael grinned, watching as his Dad hung his head in embarrassment.

"Thank you," Michael replied, his emerald eyes sparkling happily.

Minerva gave him a tiny smile in return and raised her cup of tea to her lips.

A small silence ensued. Michael watched his mother eating, wondering if what he was about to say would make her uncomfortable. He finally decided for it and screwed up his Gryffindor courage.

"Mum?"

"Hmmm?"

"You, ah,…look different."

"What? Has my face suddenly turned green?"

Michael giggled. "No, Mum, don't be silly. I mean . . . your hair . . . it's different."

Minerva blushed deeply and lowered her eyes. A small smile began to curve the corners of her lips. Albus reached over and gave her hand a light squeeze.

"No, it's looks nice! I . . . I didn't mean. . . "

"You're right, Michael," Albus replied with a twinkle. "I've been telling her for years to . . . er, _let her hair down _once in a while. She's very lovely, isn't she?"

"Now, really, that's quite enough, both of you!" Minerva's Scottish lilt tinged her voice, as it always did when she was either very angry or very flattered. Albus smiled inwardly, thinking that he was the only one capable of making her feel both ways _quite _frequently. "I willna stand for it, especially from you, Albus. Michael, I thank ye for the lovely compliment."

"What? I don't get thanked for complimenting my lovely wife?" Albus feigned offense, melodramatically putting his hand over his heart.

"It remains to be seen, Albus, if ye do. Are you finished, dear?"

Albus smiled at her and nodded. She rose to gather their three plates and brought back three dessert plates. Michael looked up hopefully and felt his throat constrict when he saw Minerva carrying an iced, chocolate cake. She set it down in front of him and waved her wand to light the candles.

"Make a wish, darling."

Michael closed his eyes and thought momentarily. Then, leaning closer, his eyelashes fluttered up as he prepared to blow. The candles all went out at once. He turned his face to his parents, who were watching him lovingly. Minerva sliced the cake magically and distributed the plates.

"I iced the cake, Mikes," Albus announced proudly, grinning widely at him. Minerva gave her head a single shake and scraped off a tiny bit of frosting.

"I had to watch that your father didn't eat all the frosting himself. There were several times when I had to . . . I can't believe what a sweet tooth you have, Albus."

"Thank you. For everything." Michael took a small bite and smiled at his parents.

"You're welcome, love." Minerva gave her son a long look before squeezing Albus' hand underneath the table.

/-/-/-/-/

A couple hours later, Michael walked into the living room and saw Minerva curled up on the couch, turning the pages of a handsome leather-bound photo album. He cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure if she wanted to be left alone.

"Hi," she said warmly, straightening her legs and brushing her loose strands of hair away from her face.

"May I ask what you're looking at?"

"Why don't you come sit here . . . next to me?" Minerva patted the seat by her and waited for him to sit down. Michael snuggled into her side; she put an arm around his thin shoulders.

"This is a photo album that I've put together for you . . . over the years. Look," she said, pointing to the very first picture. "The day you were born was the best day of our lives. And here, on your second birthday, I made a similar chocolate cake to today's one . . . you have chocolate frosting on your nose . . .

"Can I see?" Michael slid the album to his lap and slowly fingered through the photographs, which were a mixture of both the wizarding and the muggle kind. As he gazed into his forgotten childhood, painful memories gushed up inside him, and his eyes burned from unshed tears. Minerva understood how he felt; she swallowed and rested her cheek on his untidy black hair. Albus called them softly.

"Michael? Er . . . if you want, I think a trip down a Pensieve might explain things more clearly."

"Sure, Dad." Michael gave a last glance at the picture Albus took today and gently closed the album. He crossed over to where Albus stood, waiting. Then, together, the three of them, Michael, Albus, and Minerva, linked arms and approached the great stone Pensieve sitting in the corner of the room.

A/N: Well, my readers, how do you like this so far? Please review! (Okay, please please with Albus' chocolate frosting on top…)


	4. Chapter 4

Michael eyed the great stone thing with some apprehension. Albus noticed his hesitation and smiled reassuringly at him.

"You don't have to be afraid, Michael. It won't hurt you. Minerva, why don't you go down first?"

Minerva straightened up and nodded after drawing her wand away from her temple. A graceful, silvery strand floated peacefully into the Pensieve. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what the memory would show, and tilted forward. Moments after her feet touched ground, Michael and Albus landed by her side.

"Where are we?" Michael asked, looking around the desolate, slightly eerie setting. His eyes found a shambled house with smoke rising unnaturally, as though it had just been doused with water from a fire.

"Godric's Hollow," Minerva and Albus replied quietly, simultaneously. "There I am," Minerva said, pointing to a very pretty black-haired witch. The three of them stepped forward and followed the younger Minerva into a small cottage a few yards away. The older Minerva watched the younger version of herself remove her scarf and drape it over a chintz armchair. Then, younger Minerva busied herself with making tea. Michael looked at his parents, wondering what would happen.

Soon after, the younger Albus Apparated into the tiny living room and crossed over to where younger Minerva stood. Minerva made no acknowledgement of his presence, except that her hands shook slightly so that the tea tray rattled.

"Minerva?"

"What did she want, Albus?" Minerva spoke flatly, hollowly.

"Bathilda thought she could . . ."

"Help?" Minerva gave a brittle laugh. She turned to face Albus, who saw the transitory flames die out from his wife's eyes. "There is no help, Albus. My baby's gone."

"Darling . . . please. Try to understand. She told me . . ."

Minerva sighed and set her teacup down with a loud clink.

"She's just batty," Minerva said coldly, staring at Albus wearily.

"She told me that maybe . . . just maybe . . . God took our little Michael so that th—thousands of other children would have their chance to be loved by you: to share Michael's fortune of having you as part of their lives."

Minerva's voice trembled as she spoke her next few words.

"She doesn't understand, Albus. It's not the same. I love all my students at Hogwarts; in a way, they are like my children. But . . . they aren't Michael Theo Dumbledore. I—I thought that, with V-Voldemort gone, any child we might have conceived in love would be safe in this world. Apparently not."

"Maybe she is wrong," Albus replied softly, pulling his wife to him.

The memory faded and the present day Albus, Minerva, and Michael felt themselves rising lightly into the air.

As soon as the three of them returned to their cottage, Minerva was shaking from having experienced her worst memory for the second time. Michael gazed up at her anxiously, gently placing a hand on her arm and squeezing her arm lightly. Albus sighed and guided Minerva back to the couch. He passed a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea to her and forced her to drink some.

"Mum?" Michael started, in a very quiet voice. "Is this why we don't live in Godric's Hollow? Lily and James Potter died there on Halloween night and . . ."

Minerva took a deep breath. "Yes, Michael. Your father and I thought we lost you that night too. The memories . . . are just too painful. We wanted to move away, change the scenery a bit, and try to forget that this ever happened. It hasn't been easy."

Albus joined in. "The memory you saw took place right before Sirius Black, the Potter's Secret-Keeper, came to our cottage and told us that you miraculously survived. We couldn't take you back, Michael, because one, Voldemort still could have killed you, and two, you . . . didn't recognize us anymore. Minerva had already modified your memory."

Michael remained quiet for a long time. His eyes glossed over and stared unseeingly at the hearthrug. "I see." Michael nodded mechanically. "I think I'll . . . go to bed now. Goodnight."

Albus and Minerva watched their son as he slowly climbed the stairs. Once he was out of sight, Minerva tilted her heavy head against Albus' chest and sighed deeply. Albus stroked her cheek absently, gazing off into space with his eyes unfocused. Minerva closed her eyes as tears darkened her eyelashes.

/-/-/-/-/

Upstairs, Michael flipped the pages of his new photo album and paused on one photograph. In the picture, Minerva was laughing, beaming up at him. In her arms she held him, as a two year old, close to her heart. Michael shut the book again, wishing he could have changed the ways things were.

/-/-/-/-/

"Albus, do you think we should continue telling Michael this? He's only a child after all, merely twelve years old."

Albus heaved a sigh. "You're right, Minerva, you always are. I think we should just forget this and enjoy the rest of our summers…together."

They watched the dying embers of the fireplace dim and flicker out. Albus extinguished the lamps and put an arm around Minerva's waist, leading her upstairs. At the threshold of the door, Minerva stopped Albus and shushed his voice with a finger to his lips. Both of them walked quietly to their son's slightly ajar door, where they could see the boy curled up in his bed with the photo album clutched to his chest. Minerva released Albus' hand and glided to her son. A whisper of breath caressed Michael's face before she turned quickly and burrowed into Albus' comforting embrace.

"Tomorrow's another joyous day, Minerva. Never look back."


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey, mate! How's your summer been so far? Mine's been okay; I still haven't finished Snape's essay, and I'm dreading doing it. I've tried asking Hermione for help but you know how she is. 'No, Ronald, I won't let you copy my work because otherwise, how would you learn?' Honestly, it's not as though I'm asking that much! Can I come to visit? You might need to owl your address to me again since Fred and George set fire to the one I had. I'd really like to see your family! Cheers, Ron._

"Can Ron and Hermione visit us over the summer?" Michael asked, looking at his parents hopefully. He had watched as Minerva read it with Albus looking over her shoulder. Both Albus and Minerva were looking at Michael seriously. Michael hastily amended his request.

"I mean…it—it's okay if they can't. I—I understand. I just…well, if they can, I'd…"

Minerva furrowed her brow worriedly. "Oh, Albus, I don't know."

Albus squeezed her hand lightly. "It'll be all right. We'll just say that Michael is here with us on a special condition.

"Well…" Minerva deliberated, feeling uncertain still. "Well, I suppose that would be all right."

Michael beamed. He gave her a fleeting hug and raced upstairs to finish his letters to both Ron and Hermione.

"Can't wait to see you and Hermione. My address is 76 Mill Lane, Essex." At this point, Michael paused, unsure of how to sign his name. In the end, he just put "Harry."

"Our little boy is back to being Harry Potter to the wizarding world," Minerva said softly, resting her cheek against Albus' shoulder.

"Our Boy Who Lived," Albus agreed, kissing the top of her head.

/-/-/-/-/

"Are you sure it will be okay, Dad?" Michael asked worriedly a week later.

"Mike, relax. It'll be fine." Albus straightened up and patted his shoulder. "Minerva, the Floo network is up and ready."

"Wonderful," Minerva's lilting voice came back. She changed out of her wizarding robes and put on a simple Muggle outfit: a light blue, ruffled blouse and a teal pencil skirt. Her hair was in gentle ebony waves that cascaded to her shoulders. "Now, we'll be traveling to Diagon Alley for Michael's school supplies and best take Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger along. They won't mind, will they, Michael?"

"They'd like that," Michael replied.

/-/-/-/-/

Ten minutes later, the Floo flames in the fireplace glowed emerald. Michael looked up to his parents excitedly and distinctly saw a flash of flaming red hair: Ron.

Ron came spinning into view and toppled out of the grate.

"Afternoon, Mr. Weasley. Try not to get too much soot on the hearthrug." Minerva's crisp, Professor-voice clipped through the air.

Ron's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "Bloody…! Professor McGonagall! And…Professor Dumbledore! What…? I thought…"

"Hi Ron," Michael said, beaming at his friend.

"Harry! I…blimey. I didn't know you were staying with Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore."

"Erm…yeah, a change of plans. I'm staying with them for my summers from now on."

"Why…?"

Ron was cut short as Hermione's bushy hair whipped out of the grate and smacked him across the mouth. Ron looked bewildered as he sputtered out and attempted to bat away Hermione's flyaway hair.

"Harry! Ron! It's so good to see you both! And…oh! Er…hello Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall."

"Had a good summer so far, Miss Granger?" Albus twinkled at her. Minerva gave her second favorite student one of her rare smiles.

"I've already completed all my homework." Hermione announced proudly. She blushed as she turned to look at Minerva. "Professor, I was wondering, er, since you are here, if you would mind looking over my Animatus essay? It's two scrolls of parchment more than you requested but…"

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered to Michael. Michael suppressed a smile and watched Hermione turn pinker and pinker.

"Certainly, Miss Granger. Why don't you take a look at my personal library after we return from Diagon Alley? I'm sure you and Mr. Weasley (Minerva nodded to Ron, whose ears turned scarlet) have not gotten your course lists yet."

"Yes?" Ron looked quizzical.

Minerva smiled. "Professor Dumbledore has them here for you. He'll just give them to you three and that will be three fewer letters for his owl to deliver to the rest of the school."

Ron mumbled a thank you as Hermione eagerly tore open her letter. Michael read his own letter and felt a pleasurable squirm when he saw his mother's familiar italic handwriting.

"Who's Gilderoy Lockhart?" Ron hissed to Michael. Michael shrugged, not noticing that Minerva had choked on her tea.

Minerva hastily set her cup down and glared at Albus. Albus shrugged discreetly, not bothering to hide the irritating twinkle in his eyes. Minerva attempted to break into Albus' mind to start yelling at him, but he, damn it, kept it stubbornly closed. Her eyes snapped as his smile broadened into a grin.

_What's the matter, Tabby?_ Albus spoke into her mind.

_Why the bloody hell did you hire that narcissist bigot? Anybody could qualify better than him! _

_I just love seeing your Scottish temper flare up. It makes you sooo sexy._

_Albus!_

_Good thing this conversation is only between us, dear._

_Answer my question!_

_No one wanted the job._

_Yes, no one would want the job if they knew Lame Lockhart had it._

Albus cleared his throat. He winked at Minerva, who tried not to whip her wand out and fire a jinx at him, and turned to the three children.

"Are you three ready to go?"

/-/-/-/-/

"How will we be going, er, Professor?" Michael asked awkwardly.

"We will be Flooing, Harry," Albus replied smoothly.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, guests first. Take a handful and shout very clearly "Diagon Alley" into the flames."

Hermione took a shaky handful from Minerva and stepped into the flames. The flames roared emerald as she spoke quietly but clearly.

"Diagon Alley!" She vanished from sight.

"Ron, you next." Michael gave him a nod of encouragement and Ron gulped. He grabbed some Floo powder from Minerva and likewise went the same way as Hermione.

"All right, Michael. Don't be scared. The flames won't hurt. I promise. We'll go together."

And the three of them each took a handful of Floo. As the stepped into the fireplace, they simultaneously dropped their handfuls of ashes into the fireplace. The flames roared up and engulfed them in a whirling blur.

/-/-/-/-/

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Albus said cheerfully as the three young children led the way. Minerva clenched her jaw as she perused the book lists. All of Lockhart's books! How ridiculous. Albus gave her hand a secret squeeze and whispered in her ear, "Relax, Minerva. You're going to get a lockjaw, and it would ruin your stellar looks."

Minerva snorted and attempted to smile. In front, Ron and Michael kept swiveling their heads to look at both sides of the busy Diagon Alley. Ron was still agog from seeing his strict Transfiguration professor in such a Muggle outfit. Leaning closer to Michael, he whispered,

"Bloody hell, Harry. I have never known that McGonagall had such a good…"

"Oh will you hush, Ronald," Hermione snapped, whacking him on the head with her book bag. Ron yelped and turned a furious glare to Hermione. "Honestly, boys are ridiculous."

"Hey!" Ron said indignantly. Behind the three, Albus and Minerva covered their mouths to muffle their laughter. Minerva's cheeks tinged pink as she drew her arms protectively around her slender frame. Albus gave a hardly audible chuckle.

"I told you wearing this outfit would be a good idea," he whispered, twinkling at her.

/-/-/-/-/

As they entered Flourish and Blotts, the first thing Minerva saw was _him_. Gilderoy Lockhart posed with that sickening smile of his as the camera lights flashed.

"Me," Lockhart pointed, beaming at the crowd of witches surrounding him. "Three time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award."

Minerva closed her eyes and mimed gagging. Michael giggled as Hermione turned pink.

Suddenly, the shop was utterly silent.

"It can't be Harry Potter!"

Lockhart cut through the tittering crowd and yanked Michael up to the front.

"Nice big smile, Harry, together we're worth the front page of the _Daily Prophet_!"

Albus started to move forward, but decided to cast an Invisibilty charm on himself, Hermione, and Ron instead. He almost succeeded in Disillusioning Minerva,but her quick reflexes overtook his aged ones. She darted forward as the camera flashed. Michael's face was flaming as Lockhart tumbled seven heavy books into the boy's arms. Turning around and beaming at the crowd, Lockhart started to speak, but suddenly noticed Minerva.

"And Minerva McGonagall! Delightful to see you, my dear."

"Oh shit," Minerva muttered. Albus gave her a reproving look but realized she couldn't see him, so he leaned in to whisper, "Watch your Scottish temper, my love."

Lockhart cut through the crowd and seized Minerva's upper arm. Minerva glared at the douche bag and wrenched free. Her emerald eyes snapped at those gold-lashed blue eyes.

"Fancy seeing you here, Minerva!" Gilderoy grinned at her cheekily.

"Lockhart," Minerva said evenly through tightly clenched teeth. "What poor havoc have you been wreaking?"

"Take a picture with me, Minnie," Lockhart trilled, batting his eyelashes at her. "You look lovely and the _Daily Prophet _has a section on Transfiguration professors. We might be able to squeeze your name in."

Minerva's eyes narrowed dangerously. The crowd wisely saw that a tempest was approaching and backed off immediately. Minerva, for once, did not give a second thought to the rules and pulled out her wand.

"Do NOT. EVER. CALL. ME. MINNIE." Minerva's wand pointed between Lockhart's blue eyes, which widened innocently.

"I look forward to working with you, Minerva, then," Gilderoy attempted to smile. Minerva's lip curled and she sent him crashing into the bookcase.

"Let's go," Minerva addressed her three young charges and Albus in a clipped tone. Albus followed her out, barely concealing his broadening grin.

"Thank you for your support, Albus," Minerva said acidly.

"I look forward to the coming year too, my love."

Ron and Michael burst out laughing as Hermione looked scandalized.


	6. Chapter 6

The emerald flames roared up in the quaint little cottage as Albus, Minerva, Michael, Ron, and Hermione whirled into view. Each of them was clutching a bulging pack of new textbooks and potion ingredients. Hermione stepped neatly onto the hearthrug as Ron staggered behind her. Minerva reached out to steady Ron and he flushed bright scarlet.

"Thanks," he muttered, ears turning even redder. Minerva bestowed upon him a small smile and lifted his bowed head.

"You are welcome, Mr. Weasley. Traveling by Floo does take a little getting used to."

Albus had meanwhile shrugged off his traveling cloak and took Minerva's packages from her. He set the three sets of books down and immediately opened the cabinet. He pulled out a package of marshmallows and graham crackers and dark chocolate squares.

"S'mores, anybody?"

"Albus, how can you eat any more than you already have?" Minerva looked at him incredulously. Albus grinned cheekily at her.

"What?" Ron said, confused.

"S'mores are a muggle treat that I am rather fond of. Since the fire is ready now, I think we can try some."

"Okay," the three children said. Michael grabbed five forks and handed them out. Soon, the enticing aroma of melted chocolate and marshmallows filled their nostrils. Minerva gave Albus an exasperated look as he purposefully fixed an extra large marshmallow on his s'more.

"Want to play Quidditch later, Harry?" Ron asked hopefully, looking at Albus and Minerva for their approval. Michael nodded enthusiastically and Hermione sniffed.

"Really, I think you should start working on your essay for…"

"Later," Ron said dismissively. He shoved his s'mores into his mouth; his cheeks bulged out. Minerva gave him a startled look, but smiled gently nonetheless. Ron swallowed and looked at Michael and Hermione.

"Would you like more, Mr. Weasley?"

"No…er…thanks, Professor. Let's go, Harry! Hermione!"

Hermione hesitated, but followed after seeing Minerva's encouraging nod. Michael grabbed three broomsticks from the broom closet and tossed two to his friends.

"Have fun, children," Albus called.

"Now Albus…are you willing to share that enormous monstrosity you made for both of us?"

/-/-/-/-/

"No," Albus teased, holding the gigantic marshmallow out of her reach. Minerva hissed and transformed into a tabby cat. She pounced and snatched away the treat. Albus laughed and caught her to him, stroking her sleek fur. Minerva turned her head to look at him with a triumphant smirk on her face. With a tiny whoosh, she reverted back to her human form and steadied herself by wrapping her arms around his neck.

She nibbled on the marshmallow in a dignified manner and offered the treat to Albus. He took a large bite and set the s'more aside. Minerva rose and smoothed her skirt down. Albus held his arms out to Minerva like a child and she tsked. Nevertheless, she willingly held out a helping hand and he pulled himself up.

"Thanks, Minerva," he said, kissing her softly on the lips.

"For what?"

"For being. Perfectly. Sweet." Albus pecked her lips for every word.

"Albus, really..." Minerva's words were muffled as Albus hugged her tightly. "Mmurph...Al! Release me, I say!"

Albus chuckled throatily and loosened his hold on her.

Minerva pushed away and gathered up the wrappers. She waved her wand and three sets of books levitated themselves meekly into three trunks. She sniffed disdainfully when the cover picture on one of Lockhart's books gave her a cheeky wink.

"It's going to be a long year," she sighed.

"You'll be back with all your little lion cubs again."

/-/-/-/-/

September the first dawned crisp and cold. Albus and Minerva turned again to look at Michael.

"All right, Mikes, so let's go over this one more time."

"Mum, we've been through this _ten _times already!" Michael moaned, straightening his lopsided glasses.

"I know, dearest, but I can't help but be sure. Now, Dad and I will be—"

"Flooing to Hogwarts directly and I will take the Hogwarts train. I am to go to the Weasley's in the meantime and have Mrs. Weasley make sure I board the train. Once I am at Hogwarts, I am to make no indication that you are my parents."

"That's right," Albus said quietly. Minerva took a deep breath, trying not to be too bothered by the fact that she would have to spend the year pretending Michael was the Potter's son again.

"Let's go, Michael."

/-/-/-/-/

Ten minutes later, the three of them appeared in the Weasley's sitting room. Minerva brushed back a lock of her hair and straightened Michael's and Albus' glasses.

"Oh, Molly, thank you for doing this large favor for us," Minerva said, smiling graciously at the shorter, plumper woman. Molly beamed at Minerva and Albus.

"It's my pleasure, Professor McGonagall."

"Please…just Minerva is fine."

"Minerva. You look wonderful, dear," Molly said warmly. Minerva blushed and turned to look at Albus.

"I do so hate to leave so abruptly, but we really must be going. Albus needs to arrange the welcoming feast and I need to review the Sorting list. As I recall, Ginny will be starting this year, right?"

"Yes," Molly said proudly.

Minerva smiled once more and hugged Michael briefly. "See you soon…Harry." Her eyes shadowed briefly at the usage of his adoptive name again, but only Michael and Albus could have noticed.

Michael grinned and waved at his parents as emerald flames engulfed them. Soon, the flames died down and Michael turned to Mrs. Weasley.

"Thanks for the chocolates, Mrs. Weasley. They were really good."

"Oh it was nothing dear," Mrs. Weasley replied fondly, ruffling his hair. "Now, got everything? Trunk? Wand? Owl? Schoolbooks?" Michael nodded, noticing her blush slightly as she nodded to the Lockhart-adorned books.

"Okay." Molly turned her attention upstairs. "FRED! GEORGE! You have exactly ONE HALF HOUR before I come up there and find out you've packed a broken toilet seat in your trunks!"

Michael did not know whether to laugh or not.

Molly took a breath and focused on her perfect, Prefect Percy.

"Now, Percy, dear, go tell your father that we're ready (or not) to go."

"Yes, Mother," Percy replied obediently.

Ron rolled his eyes behind his mother's back.

/-/-/-/-/

After several incidents, most of which seemed to involve Fred or George's pranks in some way, all the Weasleys and Michael were off. Mr. Weasley glanced at his wife.

"Molly, dear?"

"What, Arthur?" she replied through tightly gritted teeth.

"There's this button here…Invisibility…it would allow us to fly, and no one would be the wiser…"

"No, Arthur. Not in plain sight of those Muggles over there."

Fred and George snickered.

"FRED! GEORGE! BE QUIET!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed over her shoulder.

Nevertheless, the troop arrived at Platform 9 ¾ with five minutes to spare. Molly kept checking her watch, twitching her wrist to check, making as though she had a tic.

"Percy, you first." Percy strode briskly and vanished. "Arthur, you take Ginny and help her load her trunk onto the train." Husband and daughter obeyed wordlessly. "Fred…just…go."

"Honestly, Mum, I'm George! _He's _Fred."

George smirked. "You call us our mother?"

"I'm sorry. Now, really…both of you go!"

"Ouch," the twins said dramatically, putting their right hands over their hearts.

"All right, Ron and Harry. Come after me." Molly disappeared after Fred and George.

"Ready, mate?" Michael nodded tersely, checking his watch. One minute left. Both he and Ron broke into a run and…and…and…

CRASH!

Both trolleys bounced back and Ron let out a not-so-polite exclamation.

"The platform's sealed itself!" Michael hissed to Ron. Ron was attempting to hoist both of their trunks back onto their trolleys and trying to calm down Hedwig.

"Bloody hell…Mum and Dad are going to kill me."

_Easy for you to say…my mum and dad are the Deputy Headmistress and Headmaster of Hogwarts! _Michael thought.

"Let's…let's just go wait by the car. _And pray for a miracle._

"Harry!"

"What?"

"The car!" Ron's eyes gleamed. "I mean, Dad already taught me how to drive it, it's easy. Besides," he continued over Michael's stuttering protests, "Mum and Dad don't really need the Ford Anglia. They only use it because we are underage."

Michael suddenly grinned and wheeled his trolley around. "Let's go!"

Ron raced ahead of Michael and tapped the trunk open. Loading both of their trunks inside, Ron slammed the trunk closed and opened the driver's side door.

"Okay…let's see." Ron prodded a dial and smoke billowed out.

"Ron…you're sure you know how to fly this?"

"No problem." Ron gunned the motor and they took off.

However, it was only the beginning of their troubles to come.

/-/-/-/-/

Three hours later, Ron dipped back out of the clouds and glimpsed the scarlet head of the Hogwarts Express.

"You got any water, mate?" Ron rasped, glancing at Michael.

Michael shook his head, throat too parched to say anything. The toffees they devoured within the first hour of their ride made them extremely thirsty.

"We've got to be almost there. I can see the Black Lake ahead."

"Thank God." Michael tugged at his sweaty collar and wiped his glasses lens.

Ron checked the fuel supply and groaned.

"Oh no. Fuel…"

Michael did not need to hear the rest. His green eyes widened as he watched the meter inch down.

"Come on, car," Ron coaxed, fingering his wand.

The car whined and dipped suddenly. Both boys yelled in fright as the car lurched. Just ahead, they could see the castle grounds. Ron whipped out his wand and started swearing.

"STOP! STOP! STOP!"

The car ignored the pleas and barreled right into a massive tree. Then, clanking and issuing copious amount of steam, the car stalled.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Michael said bitterly.

"Bloody hell…" came a weak reply.

Michael looked over at Ron, who was gaping at his wand. The merest strand of unicorn hair linked the two halves of holly wood together.

"Mum's gonna KILL me."

Michael looked up at Ron. "You're screwed," he agreed.

Suddenly, quite unexpected, a large crash shuddered the whole car.

"What the hell was that?"

In response, a tree limb the size of a man's thigh punched through the glass and missed Michael's glasses by an inch.

"REVERSE!" Michael bellowed at the car. The car, however, had reached the end of its tether and instead launched Ron and Michael out of their seats. Ron yelled as the tree smashed down on the car's hood. He grabbed his broken wand and trunk and stabbed the car's bent hood. Miraculously, the car revved to life and left the boys in the dust.

"Come back, you stupid car!" Ron was up and running, long arms flailing in the air. The car groaned and trundled along, ignoring the boys.

"Just our luck," Michael said tiredly.

"I know, right? Of all the trees we had to hit, we had to hit one that fights back."

"C'mon. Let's go…"

"Where, Mr. Potter?"

"Shit." Michael and Ron froze.

"Language, Weasley, or it will be detention." Snape curled his lip, staring down from his hooked nose at the two boys. "I do believe you've set a new record, Mr. Potter. The feast has hardly started and Gryffindor…poor, poor Gryffindor is already in the negatives."

Michael glared up at the greasy-haired, sallow-skinned professor.

"Excuse me, Professor, but I think…"

"Weasley, if I were you, I'd shut up. Dear, dear…clearly I was wrong to assume that your magic could suffer no worse…broken wand. Pity."

Snape smirked, reveling in taunting both of his least-favorite Gryffindors. In that time, Michael and Ron followed Snape into his dungeon-like office, where a foul-smelling potion reeked in their nostrils.

"Sit," Snape said curtly. Both boys obeyed. Snape turned on his heel and flicked his wand to lock his door. Ron turned to look at Michael miserably.

"Harry…what are we going to do?"

"Go pack our bags, I guess."

/-/-/-/-/

"Explain yourselves." Albus Dumbledore spoke coldly, and Michael involuntarily shivered.

"Please, Professor, I…"

"Potter," (Michael cringed at his mother's icy tone) "Why did you not inform us when you and Mr. Weasley missed the train? I do believe that you have an owl?"

"I…" Michael shut his gaping mouth, feeling stupid as this was the obvious solution. "I didn't think…"

"_**That **_is obvious." Minerva said simply. Snape now looked more elated than ever.

"You were seen," Snape smiled unpleasantly, brandishing the _Daily Prophet_, "by no less than _seven _Muggles."

Ron quailed under the furious stare of Professor McGonagall. Michael couldn't look into his mother's eyes. He dropped his eyes to his lap, while her emerald green eyes bored into his bowed head.

"We'll go and get our stuff then," Ron said quietly.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Weasley?" Minerva asked, her stern expression hardening.

"You're going to expel us, aren't you Professor McGonagall?" Michael looked up at his mother again, seeing her eyes soften almost imperceptibly once they met his steady gaze.

"Not today, Mr. Potter."

"However," Albus continued, "I will be writing to both of your families, and you will receive detentions for a week. Yes, Mr. Weasley, you will serve in my office. Mr. Potter, with Professor McGonagall."

Snape's face turned an ugly puce color. "Headmaster," he spoke in a gritted tone. "These boys…have deliberately flouted the decree of Underage Wizardry. Surely something else…some other form of punishment must be dealt to them."

"Thank you, Severus. I shall see to it that they are punished accordingly. Good evening."

Snape swept out of his office without a further word to anybody.

"Now, boys, Professor McGonagall and I should return to the feast. You will remain here," Albus flicked his wand and a plateful of sandwiches appeared with a jug of pumpkin juice. "before you head to your dormitories."


	7. Chapter 7

"Can you believe our luck?" Ron said, scarfing down a second ham sandwich moments later.

"I thought we were goners," Michael replied, taking a grateful swig of cold pumpkin juice. "Why couldn't we get through the barrier, though?"

"No idea," Ron mumbled, stuffing bits of chicken into his already bulging mouth. He swallowed. "Professor McGonagall just didn't want us showing off, you know. You know, didn't want other people thinking that it's clever, getting mauled by a vicious tree and nearly killing ourselves.

Two hours later, Michael was feeling quite dizzy, no doubt from the extravagant amount of sandwiches and pumpkin juice he consumed. Ron was no better; a delicate apple green color tinged his pale cheeks.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked, unperturbed by the distinctly sick-looking Ron.

"Er…" Michael stopped; he did not know the password yet. "Look, please, this is an emergency. My friend Ron here needs…."

"No password, no entrance," the Fat Lady replied loftily.

"_Harry_!" Michael turned in relief to see Hermione's bushy brown hair whipping closer to them. "Where on _Earth _have you been? The most ridiculous rumors have been circulating…something like you and Ron…is he okay?...have been expelled for flying a car to Hogwarts."

"Well…we haven't exactly been expelled," Michael assured her. "But skip the lecture, Ron needs to go…"

"Oh...Password: wattlebird. But, Harry…" Hermione was cut short as a raucous roar of approval erupted from the Common Room. Fred and George hauled in Ron and Michael, pounding them both on their backs. Lee Jordan was bellowing for more pumpkin juice to pass around, and Neville had, by the looks of it, fallen over from the stampede of people.

"Brilliant!" Fred roared. "You may become a true Weasley to be proud of, Ronniekins."

"Why couldn't we have flown to Hogwarts?" George asked jealously, grinning all the same.

"Wow…" a few girls sighed in admiration.

The only person who did not look pleased with all the attention was Percy, who was disentangling himself from a set of spangled purple robes and intending to head them off right away.

Michael jabbed Ron pointedly in the ribs and jerked his head in Percy's direction. Ron got the hint immediately and gathered up two bags of crisps.

"Got to go, er, bit tired. See you all in the morning."

With that, both boys dashed upstairs, leaving their audience a bit disappointed and Hermione and Percy looking livid.

/-/-/-/-/

Back in their dormitories, Ron flopped down on his bed, sighing deeply.

"I know that what we did was wrong, mate, but you can't deny it…it was enjoyable seeing Percy's face.

"Yeah," Michael said, grinning guiltily.

Moments later, their fellow second year Gryffindors burst in.

"_Unbelievable_!" beamed Seamus.

"Cool," said Dean.

"Amazing," said Neville, awestruck.

Michael couldn't help himself. He grinned, too.

/-/-/-/-/

Back in the headmaster's office, Minerva was definitely not grinning. She swirled around Albus' desk, agitated and furious.

"I don't know _what _possessed Michael and Mr. Weasley! They both could have been killed! For what? For flying into Hogwarts' Whomping Willow, for Merlin's sake!"

"Minerva, now…"

"I expected better of Michael; this is ridiculous….I thought our boy had more sense than that. I'm certainly going to tell him that tomorrow in his detention. You had better do the same for Mr. Weasley...and...and..."

"Tabby…" Albus attempted to break through her rant.

"Oh, the shame, the utter shame, when Severus came to us, with that despicable smirk of his, to inform us that _Harry Potter and his faithful sidekick _came crashing into Hogwarts. I thought I must have…died…of…Albus…"

Albus had gripped Minerva's arms and planted a lingering kiss on her lips.

"Now, please, let me speak, Minerva. I know what our son and Mr. Weasley did was wrong; but I have already said that I would speak to their families. I have a full expectation that that charming temper of Molly's could be just as effective as punishment for Mr. Weasley. And as to speaking to _Harry Potter's _families…have we not already?"

"Well…"

"Good." Albus pecked Minerva's lips again and released her. "Now I think that's settled…care for some tea, my dear?"

"Oh…all right."

"That's my good kitten."

"Don't try to flirt with me again, Al."

"I promise."

"Really?"

"No."


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Michael barely smiled once. He had Potions first thing in the morning, and he fully expected Snape to taunt him and Ron again. Then, there was Defense Against the Dark Arts with his mother's least favorite professor: Lockhart. And then Transfiguration. Michael shuddered, thinking of how furious Minerva looked last night. Oh yes…and his bound-to-be-fun detention with stern Professor McGonagall.

At breakfast, Michael stared moodily at his toast and took a sip of water. Hermione was buried behind one of Lockhart's textbooks (or shall it be called: a biography of the narcissist bigot) and doodling something that looked suspiciously like tiny hearts on the corner of the pages. Ron seemed to have as undiminished an appetite as ever: he was wolfing down indecent amounts of scrambled eggs and bacon.

"'Ow iszit pofible that you kunnot eat?" Ron asked with his mouth full.

Michael looked over to his friend. "How is it possible that _you _eat when you know what we have later?"

Ron shrugged and dived for another slice of bacon.

Hedwig flew over from the Headmaster's table and pecked Michael in annoyed greeting. In her beak, she carried a letter for him. Michael grudgingly removed her burden; she fluffed her feathers and nipped his finger in the process, and he slit it open with a tap of his wand.

_Michael, dear, don't forget your detention with me tonight. 7:00 sharp. I want you to know that even though I am shocked and furious at what you did last night, I still love you._

_Mum_

_PS: This parchment is enchanted to read differently by everyone else but you. Stop blushing._

Michael looked up gratefully from the parchment and sworn he could have seen a faint glimmer of a wink from his mother. Nevertheless, her expression turned stern a split-second later. Michael pocketed the note with a sigh.

/-/-/-/-/

As Michael predicted, Snape greeted his presence with a sneer and a disparaging remark.

"Ah…Potter. Apparently the Hogwarts Express wasn't good enough for you and Weasley, was it? Wanted to arrive with a bang, didn't we, boys?"

"Yes," Michael replied defiantly. Snape's lip curled and his eyes bored into Michael's.

"You may have suffered a summer of neglect, Potter, but do not expect full gratification from me this semester. You may be the _Boy-Who-Lived _but I do not take cheek from anyone. Is that clear?"

"Is it, Professor?"

"_No_, Harry!" Hermione moaned into his ear. She was looking nervously at Snape's ugly scowl accented by his bared teeth.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Take your seat." Snape swept forward and flicked his wand to slam the dungeon door.

Michael sank down in his seat and looked glumly at the complex potion that he was supposed to make. Slowly, he began to slice dragon skin and measure out powdered griffin claw.

After two hours of torturous Potions, Michael staggered into the brightly lit Defense classroom. The first sight that greeted his eyes was a monstrous blown-up version of Gilderoy Lockhart posing in a frame. Hermione squealed, and immediately turned red. Ron snorted and intentionally dropped all seven of Lockhart's books loudly.

"Merlin help me and give me my reward in Transfiguration," Michael muttered, massaging his temples. Apparently, Lockhart had evidently inched up behind him and misheard what Michael had said.

"What was that, young Harry? Oh, you were asking about my awards? Let's see…"

The only good thing to note about Lockhart's singularly enthusiastic tirade was that it took up twenty minutes of the hour long lesson.

With ten minutes left in Lockhart's lesson, Michael felt utterly exhausted. He looked up to see Lockhart handing out yet another sheaf of parchment.

"What the bloody hell could that be?" Ron muttered. He rubbed his eyes and looked toward Hermione, who was alert as ever, sitting on the half-inch edge of her seat.

"Now, no need to fret, ladies and gentlemen. With such a little time left in our lesson, I'd like to see how much you know about me! No worries, it's a very easy quiz. The person who gets full marks will get a complimentary copy of my autobiography signed by me. Now…begin!"

Michael sighed and lowered his eyes to the lurid pink parchment.

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite hairstyle?_

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite childhood bath bubble scent?_

And on it went, three pages, double sided, to number 150: _What do you think is Gilderoy Lockhart's most well-known accomplishment to date?_

Michael lugubriously gazed off into space. He wasn't alone. Ron was doodling a rather horrid caricature on his parchment of Snape yelling and Michael could see that the rest of the class was in a similar state of daze. Lockhart was humming in that irritatingly nasal voice. Only Hermione was scribbling furiously.

"Time's up!" Lockhart shouted genially. Ron jerked out of his stupor and gazed at Michael's paper. It was as blank as his own. Hermione was blushing and waving her completed paper.

Lockhart waved his wand and twenty scrolls of three-paged-nightmare flew toward him and knocked off his hat. Blushing, he picked it up and set it down, inside-out, on his desk. Thumbing through the quizzes, Lockhart tutted.

"Tsk tsk, hardly anyone remembered that my favorite color is _lilac_. And my favorite childhood bath bubble scent is very clearly stated to be cherry blossom in _Gadding with Ghouls_. But wait…who is Miss Hermione Granger?

"Me, sir," Hermione raised her hand trembling.

"Full marks!" he exclaimed happily. "Take twenty well-earned points, Miss Granger!"

"Thank you, sir," she squeaked. Ron rolled his eyes. Michael buried his face in his hands. Ron looked at Michael in understanding and leaned closer to him to whisper:

"Well, mate, at least Hermione got back the points that Snape took from you."

/-/-/-/-/

"Welcome to your second year at Hogwarts," Minerva's crisp, teacher voice cut through the air. She faced her students with a stern expression, and they listened with rapt attention. She was the only professor aside from Professor Snape and Dumbledore who could hold the students' attention effortlessly.

"This year will be more challenging than ever. To start off, I would like you all to review on how to transfigure all the objects you learned in first year. Then, kindly take a porcupine (don't be ridiculous, Miss Brown, they won't bite you…unless you provoke them, Mr. Malfoy) and transfigure it into a water goblet. Instructions are on the board. Carry on."

Hermione was the first out of her seat. Michael slumped forward and began to copy down the notes his mother had on the board.

By the end of the day, Michael's head was throbbing. He slung his book bag over his shoulder to grab some dinner before his and Ron's detentions. He had hardly set himself down when who else but _Professor Lockhart _came bustling over to him.

"Harry, my boy, I wondered if I might have a word with you?"

"Er…"

"That's the ticket."

Lockhart seized Michael's upper arm and led him away from the enticing aroma of food.

"Harry...Harry, Harry, Harry." Lockhart was not smiling, but Michael was amazed to see that Lockhart could still show off all of his sparkling white teeth.

"When I heard of your entrance into Hogwarts, I couldn't have been more shocked. Of course, it's partly my fault; after all I was the one that gave you all those ideas of fame. Just a word to the wise: it's a tad bit early to call attention to yourself at your age."

"Er…I'm not…"

"Harry, Harry, I _understand. _I can tell you that when I was your age, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now."

_Oh, you have _no _idea, Professor, _Michael thought bitterly. He discreetly checked his watch. 6:55. He cleared his throat, trying to politely interrupt Lockhart's ramblings.

"Er…sorry, Professor. I've really got to go."

"…and when I was twelve, I can tell you…"

"Another time," Michael muttered, dashing away. It would do no good to be late for his mother. He skidded to a halt in front of her office. 7:05. He took a deep breath and knocked.

/-/-/-/-/

"Come in," she called. Michael slowly opened the door and saw his mother seated at her desk. She looked up upon his entrance and gave him a stiff smile.

"Good evening, Michael. Shut the door please."

"Good evening, Professor. Of course." Michael obediently closed the heavy brass door. He shrugged off his bag and waited for her to give him instructions.

"Sit down, won't you?"

Michael sank down. She finally set her quill down and stared at him for a very long time. Michael squirmed uncomfortably and dropped his head.

"I was so scared that I had lost you that night, Mike," Minerva said quietly. Michael looked up, surprised to hear how gentle her voice was.

"Mum, I'm sorry. I really am."

"You know, a student had died years ago, such a brutal death, as a result of a walloping from the Whomping Willow."

Michael winced.

"However," (at this point, Minerva's strict voice returned) this does not prevent your punishment from happening. I would like you to sort through these filing cabinets. Put the files in alphabetical order."

"Of course, Mum," he replied quietly. He moved forward to start his task, but his stomach grumbled loudly. He had not had anything to eat yet today. Michael closed his eyes, hoping against hope that his mother hadn't heard. She had.

"Michael, have you eaten anything today?"

"Er…well…I…uh…" Michael hedged, looking down at his task. Minerva narrowed her eyes.

"Answer me," she said icily.

"N-no. I'm not hungry," he lied immediately.

"My darling, don't lie to me. Sit down…here. Have a ginger newt."

"I don't…"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Thank you." Michael crossed the room and took a bite out of a ginger newt.

"Why were you late?" Minerva asked abruptly.

"Professor Lockhart…wanted to talk to me."

Minerva took in a sharp breath.

"Did Professor Lockhart prevent you from eating?"

"Er…sort of."

"There is no 'sort of' Michael. Elaborate."

"He wanted to talk to me, but I didn't think it would take…an hour. I…couldn't…"

Minerva sighed. She waved her wand and a plate of pork chops, green beans, and potatoes appeared.

"Eat, Michael. We'll begin once you finish."

Michael swallowed. He reached for a fork and shook out his napkin.

"I do hope your friend Ronald has eaten something. Your Dad does not have nearly as many food resources as I have."

"He was the only one today out of us three to have any appetite," Michael mumbled with his mouth full.

Minerva smiled, in spite of herself.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey! Hey, _Harry_! Wake up!"

"Wuzz go'n on?" Michael mumbled, turning away from the blinding light. Suddenly, a pillow whacked him on the side of the head and he yelped.

"Ron! What the hell was that for?"

"Get up now! I want you to see something." Ron beamed at him and tugged his blanket down. Michael scrunched up in a ball, trying to will himself to fall asleep again. He had gotten back from his detention with his Mum at 2 in the morning. He squinted at his watch. 6:30. He groaned.

At the second blow from the pillow, Michael grudgingly staggered to his feet. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and proceeded downstairs to the Common Room without bothering to put on his glasses.

Ron was standing by the bulletin board, his grin evident from ten feet away. Michael yawned and approached the sign. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the lurid purple font.

"Wi-wizard's duel this Saturday… at 10 am…in the Great Hall…please s-sign below if interested. Cheers…_Gilderoy Lockhart_?"

Michael turned on to Ron, who, surprisingly, was grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm gonna go talk to McGonagall and Snape and get them to sign up. Lockhart won't know _what _hit him."

Michael stared at Ron for two seconds before he burst out laughing.

/-/-/-/-/

As Saturday approached, Michael could hardly focus on his tasks. He checked his watch. 9:45. He leapt up and barreled down the stairs. Hurtling through the portrait hole, Michael found Ron impatiently waiting for him.

"C'mon," Ron said, face lit up with glee.

Michael and Ron hurried to the Great Hall and noticed that the House tables had vanished to be replaced by a star-studded podium elevated in the middle. Lockhart was chatting enthusiastically with Albus and Michael could see his Dad smiling amusedly. Michael waved and saw Albus wink at him.

With five minutes left, the Great Hall had filled with students. Hermione had walked in with her nose buried in _Gadding with Ghouls_, no doubt reading it for the 100th time, and looked up in time to see Lockhart discard of his cloak. She squeaked as the cloak came sailing in her direction. She caught it and blushed to see the other Gryffindor girls glaring at her enviously.

"Am I too late?" she asked the boys breathlessly. Ron snorted.

"No," Michael reassured her. He was looking for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Lockhart finally ended his conversation with Albus and turned to the tittering crowd.

"Gather round, gather round!" he shouted enthusiastically. "Can you all hear me?" ('too well,' Ron muttered) "Can you all see me?" ('I wish I couldn't,') "Excellent!"

Lockhart beamed at the students and slicked back his wavy gold locks.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has sportingly agreed to my proposition of starting a little dueling club here at Hogwarts…just to train you all up for combat, as I have dueled countless times…for further details, please see my published works."

Hermione riffled through her pages and gasped admiringly. Ron snorted again.

"Please let me introduce my assistants! Professor Severus Snape and Professor Minerva McGonagall! Both have kindly agreed to assist me in showing you all the basics of spell-casting."

Michael fought down a chuckle as he saw his mother and Snape emerge from the shadows, both wearing scarily-similar scowls.

"Now, I don't want you youngsters to worry…you'll still have your Potions master and Transfiguration professor when I'm through with them! Never fear," he finished dramatically.

Minerva and Severus both curled their lips. They rounded on Lockhart like angry wolverines. Fred and George Weasley were snickering.

"I doubt it," they said simultaneously, eying Minerva's and Severus' furious stares.

Lockhart grinned cheekily at Minerva, batting his eyelashes _again_. Michael could see Minerva's nostrils flare and whiten.

Now in a circle, Lockhart waved his wand and…it flew out of his hands.

"Oops, my wand seems a little over-excited today!"

Severus snarled and uncast the protective barriers of the Great Hall. If Michael was very much mistaken, he could have sworn he saw Snape lean closer to Minerva and whisper something plotting to her. Minerva smirked too.

"On the count of three!" Lockhart shouted. "One!...Two!...Three!"

"Iverte Statum!" Minerva and Severus roared at the same time. A double jet of blinding white light flew out of their wands and hit Lockhart in the middle. Lockhart was blasted off his feet and landed in a heap. His hair was rumpled and his wand was lying two feet away from him.

"Wicked," Ron, Fred, Michael, and George all said.

"Ah, yes, very good, Professors!" Lockhart trilled. He retrieved his wand and approached them. "But it was rather obvious wasn't it? I wanted to stop you, but I considered the possibility of letting the children see what the counter-effects of the spell were."

Minerva stepped forward, her eyes blazing.

"Gilderoy, it would probably be best if _you _were not demonstrating. Let the students practice in pairs."

Lockhart blinked at Minerva and grinned cheekily. "An excellent idea, Professor McGonagall! Severus, do you agree?"

"I do," Snape said in a low voice. He was looking rather bored.

"Let's see…an example pair? Potter! Longbottom! How about you two…?"

"Misjudged, Lockhart," Snape sneered. "I believe it would be more representative if I chose someone…from my own house? Malfoy, perhaps?"

Minerva shot a quick glance at Albus, who nodded imperceptibly. Snape jerked his head at Malfoy and shoved him to the stage. Minerva glided off the stage and pulled Michael to his feet.

"Good luck, Harry!" Lockhart said genially, ruffling his hair. Minerva gave Lockhart the death stare and gave Michael a gentle push.

"Good luck…Mike," she breathed. No one could hear her except Michael, who smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Professor," he said quietly.

/-/-/-/-/

"Face your partners!" Lockhart bellowed. "And bow!"

Michael barely inclined his head at Malfoy, who was sneering at him again.

"Ready to show your talent again, Potter?" he snarled.

"You wish," Michael spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Minerva was watching her son anxiously from the shadows. She moved closer to Albus and gripped his hand. Albus spared her a slight look before returning the pressure reassuringly.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart cried. "One! Two!...Three!"

Malfoy had swung his wand high after "two" and cast his spell.

"Densaugeo!" he screamed. Michael had hardly any time to react. As the green flash of light approached him, he ducked. The curse hit Lockhart full in the face. Crabbe and Goyle were laughing stupidly; Snape was smiling, and Minerva, in spite of herself, was openly trying not to laugh hysterically at the sight of Lockhart's glittering white teeth elongating.

Michael straightened up again and disregarded the muffled moans behind him. He focused his energy on his next spell.

"Rictusempra!" he bellowed, aiming squarely at Malfoy. Malfoy bent over, wheezing from the Tickling Charm. Michael stood back and felt it would be rather un-sporting to hex Malfoy when his opponent was in such a state. A mistake apparently.

"Serpensortia!" Malfoy wheezed, whirling his wand and ejecting a snake. Quite a few girls shrieked. Michael froze. The snake hissed angrily and slithered toward Michael.

"Don't worry about it…I'll get rid of it for you, Potter," Snape drawled, stepping closer to the snake."

"Allow me!" Lockhart intercepted. It was a miracle that he could extract his wand from his still-lengthening teeth. He aimed at the middle of the snake and blasted it thirteen feet into the air.

"Finished, Gilderoy? Or is this spell just a starter for something…_much _more impressive?" Minerva asked with a touch of asperity. Snape smirked. He lifted his wand lazily, but…

"_Stop_." Michael hissed to the snake. "_Don't come any closer. I am warning you. I will kill…_"

"Vipera evanesca!" Snape muttered. The snake vanished in a spurt of smoke.

It was deathly silent in the Great Hall. Michael jerked out of his trance and looked up to see stark, white faces staring up at him.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Warning…this chapter has a bit of…strong language. Tried to avoid it, but the person it was directed to could hardly be deprived of that honor… :) I'm not too pleased with this chapter...I sort of ran out of ideas. Oh, and now since school's started, updates might come a little slower…please be patient with me!

Michael stood rooted to the spot. Whispers filled his ears like the angry buzzing of bees. Somewhere, somehow…Ron and Hermione pushed their way through and seized one of his arms each. Ron was unceremoniously shoving people out of the way and cursing under his breath.

Finally, Ron slammed the transfiguration classroom shut and rounded on Michael. Hermione was looking worriedly at the pair of them.

"_Harry! _Why didn't you tell us?"

"Tell…you…what?"

"Harry, you're a Parselmouth!" Ron was breathing hard through his nostrils. Michael widened his eyes and took a small step back.

"I…I'm a what?"

"You can talk to snakes, Harry. That's why you scared everyone half out of their lives. It sounded as though you were egging the snake on…to kill."

"I…I…really…"

"The mark of Slytherin is a snake, Harry," Hermione said seriously. "Do you know why?"

"Because…well…"

"Salazar Slytherin was known as a natural Parselmouth. He prized himself for his rare ability. He sought to seek out his heir…"

"But…I'm not even related to him…my family…" _my parents are Albus and Minerva. You can't get more Gryffindor than that._ Michael finished in his head.

"You never know, Harry," Hermione replied quietly. "For all we know…"

"You may be." Ron finished, gazing at Michael with slightly suspicious eyes.

/-/-/-/-/

The next week passed like a nightmare for Michael. His classmates avoided his gaze, as though they might be petrified by his glittering green eyes. Malfoy was exultant: he never lost a chance to hiss _snake-boy_ in Michael's ear. His fellow Quidditch peers never spoke to him; when they had to refer to him, they called him _the Seeker_. Even worse, Ron seemed to be ignoring Michael. If it weren't for Hermione, who alone seemed to empathize with Michael, Michael would have felt extremely depressed.

Snape was worse than everyone combined. Prior to Michael's snake encounter, Snape was unpleasant, bitingly sarcastic at most, but now, Snape had another edge to his loathing for Michael. His gaze was sharper, shrewder, and often Michael could see a flash of…was it fear?...cross Snape's black eyes.

Monday morning Potions was torture for Michael. He worked alone, surrounded by foul-smelling potion. Ron was avoiding Michael's eye and scooting closer to Dean and Seamus. Malfoy smirked from across the room and threw Michael a slit-eye sneer. Michael knew it was no use to retaliate; Professor Snape would have Michael kicked out and in detention quicker than ever.

"Stop. I want a 2 foot essay on how to recognize poisons by Thursday, to be collected and graded…carefully."

"But, sir," Hermione spoke, "Sir we have not covered poisons yet, we're just due to begin…"

"Well, Miss Granger, I expect you to hurry and read up. For those of you… (at that, Snape glided over to Michael's cauldron and smirked nastily) who deliberately fouled up the assignment today, I would like…four feet. Now get out of my sight all of you."

Michael dropped his eyes and packed up his books. As he turned to clear out his potion, he heard his bag split its seams. He could hear the Slytherins cackling behind his back. Finally, the dam of rage broke its confines within him and he whirled around, wand at Malfoy's throat.

"You…effing…arse, Malfoy." Michael gritted his teeth and shoved the tip of his wand deeper into Malfoy's pale skin. Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's cronies, cracked their knuckles menacingly and looked toward Snape's closed dungeon door. Malfoy snarled and drew his own wand.

A gust of wind blew back the heavy dungeon door and Snape stood, looking livid.

"Potter!" he snarled. "Fifty points from Gryffindor! You're coming with me to the Headmaster's office. And don't hope that Professor Dumbledore will spare you the detention time today."

Snape seized Michael by the neck of his robes and shoved him off in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

Michael gulped quietly and tried not to meet Hermione's anxious eyes.

_Bang! _

"Headmaster, Potter here has been a deliberate insolent brat. I'm here to propose revoking his Quidditch rights. After all… (Snape curled his lip unpleasantly at Michael) he can hardly be any good in Quidditch if he takes after his father."

Albus was quiet and surveyed Michael over the tops of his spectacles. Michael could not meet his father's piercing stare and dropped his eyes again.

"Thank you, Severus," Albus said quietly. "Might I ask you to return to your classes? I do believe I can take it from here…after all, it is Professor McGonagall who is Harry's Head of House. She can deliver adequate punishment."

"Tell Minerva to come here _now_, Headmaster. Potter…"

"Certainly, if you wish it," Albus replied coldly. He strode to his fireplace and threw in a handful of glittering floo powder.

"Minerva, a word please!"

Albus stood back and waited for Minerva's slim frame to come spinning into view. She did come…promptly two seconds later. When she saw Michael, her eyes widened in consternation.

"You wished to see me, Dumbledore?" Her voice betrayed no indication of her emotions. She flicked her keen eyes in Snape's direction and gave him a curt nod.

"Indeed. It's seems as though Harry…"

"Challenged my student and caused deliberate havoc!" Snape bellowed suddenly. Minerva turned to him, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"Did he?" Minerva quirked an inquisitive eye toward Michael, who nodded mutely and bit his lip. Snape was quivering with rage.

"I want his Quidditch privileges revoked."

Minerva snapped her eyes back to Snape, who was looking strangely triumphant as he stared at Minerva. Albus cleared his throat.

"No," she hissed. "Severus, really, it's not as though…your student…was challenged by a Bludger or broomstick. I see no reason to deprive Potter of what he loves best."

Snape curled his lip and advanced upon Minerva, who did not back down.

"Minerva…you're particular proclivity towards Quidditch has manifested itself and reflected upon your apparent _favoritism _towards Potter."

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. I will see to it that Potter is properly punished. So thank you for coming," Minerva replied evenly. She met his ire with calm, determined eyes.

"Severus, I think your duty here is done. Please attend to your students and classes." Albus spoke with a finality that bordered on indifference.

"Of…course, Headmaster. Gladly." Snape snarled and released Michael's collar as though it was something disgusting. On his way out, Snape brushed past Michael none too gently.

As the door slammed, Minerva and Albus turned to Michael again.

/-/-/-/-/

"What on earth did you do, Mike?"

Michael took a deep breath and forced himself to look directly into Albus' eyes.

"Nothing," he lied quietly. He did not feel like spilling his emotions in front of both of them.

Minerva crossed the room and gently raised his head to meet her worried green eyes.

"No secrets, Mikes, remember? Tell us."

Michael shrugged and turned away. "I…I…am just…so tired of this all. Everyone…dislikes being with me. Dormitory…mates…classes…they're afraid that I'm going to…kill them in their sleep. The Sorting Hat did not first want to put me into Gryffindor…I begged him to do so. It said that Slytherin would be more in my favor. Now I see what it meant. I'm no good for the house of the brave. I'm…no good, at all."

Albus rose from his seat and kneeled so he was level to Michael's face. His face was gentle, kind, and so loving. Michael could not bear to see such love when he did not deserve it.

"Michael, you are our son. True to Gryffindor, named after the patron of courage. Look deep within you…you will find that your true loyalties…reside in your good heart."

"Besides," Minerva joined in, "these feelings that your classmates have will die down over time. Give them a second chance…hold your head high. And Michael…"

"Yes…Mum?"

"Just between the three of us…_do _try and beat Slytherin on next Tuesday's match, won't you? It would really…show Professor Snape what you're made of. And…you just might luck out of a detention with the Headmaster. If I can arrange that."

Minerva smiled devilishly and rumpled Michael's hair. She turned to Albus, who watched her with a mixture of exasperation and unconditional love.

"Now I really must be going…I have to finish grading my second-year essays."

Michael looked at her and returned her smile uncertainly. "You wouldn't tell me what I got, would you, Mum?"

"You'll just have to find out, love." Minerva sent him a small smile and leaned back to place a light kiss on his cheek.

Albus chuckled as Minerva spun out of view. He got to his feet and opened the door, excusing Michael.

"You're mother was a very competitive Quidditch player when she was in school. She would dearly love to see Slytherin squashed."

"I'll try," Michael returned, smiling briefly.

/-/-/-/-/

Next Tuesday dawned bright yet cold. Michael entered the Great Hall and peered up at the ceiling to see a bright, cerulean blue sky and wispy clouds. He grinned slightly and piled up sausages and scrambled eggs.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered, casting an anxious gaze at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was jeering and muttering to his friends what sounded suspiciously like a death-threat to Michael.

Michael smiled wanly and accepted a glass of pumpkin juice from Hermione.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said. "Are you coming to watch the match?"

Michael noticed that she reddened slightly when she mentioned that she might look in on the match. Michael did not deign to comment. Hermione was watching Professor Lockhart smooth his golden hair back and flirt with Professor McGonagall, who looked distinctly disgruntled.

"Alright, team, let's go, and good luck to you all." Oliver Wood stood up and beckoned to the team. Michael got up and almost wanted to speak to Ron, but changed his mind at the last minute. Hermione squeezed his hand and flashed a quick smile of encouragement.

Michael took a deep breath when he entered the Quidditch pitch. Across the field, he could see the Slytherin team already changed into their emerald and silver Quidditch robes. Michael quickly shrugged into his scarlet ones and shouldered his Nimbus 2000.

Slytherins in the crowd hissed as Michael approached with his team. As Oliver Wood neared the Slytherin team, the latter parted to reveal…their new seeker. Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy?" Michael breathed out, disbelievingly.

"That's right." Draco sneered, pale eyes meeting Michael's green ones insolently. "Bit surprised to see me, Potter?"

Wood spoke up. "Flint! Why didn't you tell us that you got a new Seeker?"

"We all have our covert intricacies, Wood," Flint jeered. "And that's not all. Look at this." Flint casually flicked off a speck of dust on the handle of his broom.

Ron and Hermione had come forward, having watched the spectacle from the stands.

"Harry, what is _he _doing here?" Ron eyed Malfoy with greatest loathing.

"I've been appointed the new Seeker of the Slytherin team, Weasel," Malfoy said smugly.

"What!"

Hermione gasped. "Nimbus 2001's! How…"

"A very generous gift from Draco's father," Flint replied smoothly.

"You see, Mudblood…unlike some, my family can afford the best."

Ron snarled and reached in his robes for his wand. Hermione pushed him away and lifted her chin to meet Malfoy's arrogant gaze.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on their own pure talent," Hermione countered acerbically.

Madame Hooch bustled over and shooed Ron and Hermione away. She was carrying the heavy box that contained the Quidditch equipment. As she released the Golden Snitch, her hawk-like yellow eyes met both Malfoy's and Michael's eyes.

"Now I want a nice fair game. From all of you."

Fourteen brooms shot up into the air and the game began.

Michael was seething from anger and hardly heard Lee Jordan's enthusiastic commentary. As Michael scanned the pitch for the Snitch, his eyes found his mother clenching a tartan handkerchief in her trembling hands. Snape was leering and eyeing Gilderoy Golden-Boy nastily.

Quite suddenly, a Bludger came whooshing around him and narrowly missed his head. Michael swerved away and was forced to do a stupid sort of pirouette to avoid colliding with it. As he accelerated across the pitch, he could hear the whooshing of the deadly Bludger very near behind him.

He swooped and came to a temporary halt when he saw Malfoy jeering at him. "Training for the ballet, Potter?" He snickered nastily.

Malfoy sped off, obviously showing off the new speed of his broom.

Michael glared at Malfoy with a searing hate. Then, miraculously, Michael spotted the shimmery golden wings of the Golden Snitch hovered tantalizingly above Malfoy's ear. Malfoy was too occupied with taunting Michael to notice. Michael gritted his teeth and leant forward on his broom.

Steel-gray eyes widened in shock as bright green narrowed in concentration. Michael swerved around Malfoy and bolted off after the Snitch. Malfoy whipped his head around and snarled. His Nimbus 2001 quickly caught up to Michael's broom. Neck in neck, both Seekers hurtled to the pale cerulean sky and stretched out their arms. Michael was in the lead, but…

_WHAM!_ The deadly Bludger had at last found its mark. Michael could hear a loud, sickening crack as the bones in his arm broke. Michael's eyes were watering from the pain as he urged his broom suddenly downward, 100 feet, and took his remaining arm off his broom. The crowd gasped and shrieked. Michael did not hear them; his entire focus was on the tiny Snitch that was mere feet from him now. Malfoy still was flying very close to him.

Michael shoved Malfoy to the side and finally reached out, groping, for the struggling Snitch. His slender fingers closed around the golden orb as Malfoy's nails scrabbled uselessly at the back of his hand.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Madame Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air. The last thing Michael saw before his vision blacked out was his entire team speeding toward him with huge grins on their faces.

/-/-/-/-/

"Careful now, lift him gently."

"Where are his glasses?"

"Oh, here…"

Michael blinked blearily and the sea of faces swam hazily in front of him. He lugubriously turned his head and smiled when he saw the wings of the Snitch beating feebly against his fist.

"Harry Potter!" Michael heard Minerva's voice, cracked and anxious, approach him. He blinked twice and found bright green eyes looking worriedly down at him.

"We won, Professor," he said quietly, smiling elatedly.

The thundering cheers of his fellow teammates and Gryffindors were muted in Michael's ears as his eyes feasted upon the pride and love that was emanating from Minerva's eyes.

"As I knew you would, my little lion cub," Minerva whispered, very, very quietly.

A/N: Um...so, please...review? Constructive criticism is appreciated too!


	11. Chapter 11

Michael smiled once more but almost immediately his face contorted from the pain of his broken arm. He quickly averted his face from Minerva, whose keen eyes quickly noticed his wince. She dropped her eyes to his right arm and mentally took a deep breath to settle her stomach. His arm was bent at a horrible angle and the flesh was blackened to resemble currant.

"Oh, Mr. Potter," Minerva said slightly louder. "You'll need the hospital wing for your…injuries. Please relax…trust me. I'll…try not to hurt you even more."

Gilderoy Lockhart bustled over, smiling and looking happy nonetheless.

"My dear boy! My, my Harry…such an amazing performance. Now…I know just the spell…"

"Gilderoy, get out of the way," Minerva snapped. She levitated Michael's body and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Albus hurrying over to them. She drew closer to Albus and whispered:

"Albus…he needs the hospital wing. Now…"

Albus squeezed her arm gently and took over. As he retreated from the green pitch, he distinctly heard Minerva's sharp, Scottish brogue tinting her voice as she shook off Lockhart's conversation.

"Gilderoy, for Merlin's sake, won't you _please _leave me alone?"

Albus grinned to himself. Minerva's stubbornness had met its match in Gilderoy's persistent sweetness.

"Minnie, I wanted to ask you something…"

"What?" she snapped, looking thoroughly irritated at his use of her detested nickname.

"Valentine Day's tomorrow…"

"Yes, I know. You've had the house-elves paint the Great Hall's banisters a horrendously bright, lurid pink in _preparation _for this occasion.

"…How would you like to be my Valentine?"

Minerva choked and turned on her heel to see those golden-lashed eyes blinking at her in a sickeningly sweet manner.

"WHAT?"

"We'd match well…I just got a new set of dress robes from Madam Malkin's…emerald tartan. Very fetching, I must say."

Minerva quickly whipped her hand away from her wand, feeling that the prospect of hexing Lockhart into oblivion would not be a good choice, however attractive the idea might have sounded. She swallowed the hot, furious swear-words that instantly bubbled to her throat and forced herself to look him in the eye civilly.

"If I…do, will you stop badgering me and bugger off?"

"Yes," Lockhart promised, flashing a dazzling smile to her. "But you have to play the part, Minnie! No cheating!" he wagged his finger annoying in her direction. Minerva snarled.

"Well, all right. Now excuse me, I must attend to Mr. Potter."

Minerva sighed and passed a hand over her tired eyes. Apparently, Lockhart had thought her 'Iverte Statum' spell during the Dueling Club demonstration had been a sign that she "liked" him. Minerva repressed a shudder of loathing. At least from now on, the idiot would leave her alone.

/-/-/

"Poppy, is Mr. Potter going to be all right?"

Minerva's anxious voice cracked from strain as she hurried to the Healer's side. Albus pulled Minerva closer and offered her his chair. He stood behind her and gently massaged her shoulders.

"Yes, though I've never seen a more vicious arm injury. 32 broken bones! Potter will be in for a rough night."

Minerva closed her eyes and her hand found Albus'. She squeezed his hand tightly. Albus brushed a light kiss at her temple that went unnoticed by anyone in the Hospital Wing.

Poppy poured some clear water-like substance into Michael's goblet and handed it to him. Michael murmured a quiet 'Thank you' and struggled to lift himself up to drink. The goblet tilted precariously and Minerva's quick, cat-like reflexes steadied the cup. She gently lifted the cup and he drank the liquid.

SPLAT!

Michael spluttered and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"What _is_ that?" he choked, pulling a disgusted face at the drink.

"Skele-Grow," Madam Pomfrey replied briskly. She stopped to look at Michael's scowl of confusion. "Well, what did you expect, Potter? Pumpkin juice?"

She tutted and bustled off to refill the Bone-Healing potion.

Michael glared at the half-filled bottle of Skele-Grow and heaved a sigh of defeat. Soon, the entire Gryffindor team trooped in, dragging in a smell of sweat and dirt into the sterile hospital ward. Minerva and Albus took a last look at Michael before they glided away, leaving Michael with his team.

"Bloody brilliant!" Fred and George bellowed together, looking elated. Wood was swallowing hard and his eyes shone with a manic gleam that Michael identified as pride.

"You should have seen Malfoy's face!" Ron beamed. "Even the troll we fought in our first year looked better than him!" Hermione giggled and gave Ron a playful push.

"Ron, you know that Hogwarts' motto is to stress "InterHouse relationships."

Ron rolled his eyes and snorted. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Madam Pomfrey came bustling out again and looked livid. She brandished her wand at the filthy Gryffindor team.

"Mr. Potter has 32 bones to regrow! He needs rest and peace! NOW GET OUT!"

The Gryffindor team as one drooped in disappointment and turned back to Michael, promising him that they would bring him loads of candy and food from the Great Hall. Madam Pomfrey sniffed disapprovingly.

As she shooed Fred and George away, she muttered something about "inconsiderate rowdy boys…needing to regrow an armful of bones…"

Gryffindor's victory had put nearly every student in euphoric spirits. Luckily for Michael, the rumors of his supposed relation to Salazar Slytherin also faded away. Ron seemed happier too, and Michael appreciated having his best friend back. If it weren't for his impending detention with Professor Snape, who looked to be in fouler temper each time he set eyes on Michael, the days would be perfect.

A week later, when Michael was finally allowed to leave the stifling hospital wing, he made his solitary way to the Potions master's dungeon rooms with a heavy heart and lethargic step. As he walked, Michael shivered and drew his robes tighter around himself. The chill seeped through his bones, giving the unpleasant sensation of almost walking into a ghost.

Michael had nearly reached the heavy iron door when suddenly, a disembodied voice seemed to hiss out at him.

_So long…time to strike…I smell blood. Fresh blood…here I come…_

Michael froze in step and turned his head wildly to locate the source of sound. But nothing happened again for three minutes and he, checking his watch, felt his heart jolt as he realized he was late for Snape.

He hurried to the dungeon and knocked.

"Enter, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a deadly voice.

Michael turned the handle and a gruesome sight of yellow, waxy light and bile-colored potion greeted his eyes. Severus melted perfectly into the gloomy shadows of his room; Michael started when he saw Severus suddenly rise to his feet and tower over him.

"You are aware of the reason you are here, Potter. Sit."

"Yes…sir." Michael dropped his bag to the floor and edged to the seat farthest from the loathsome Potions master.

"Now…you are rather fortunate tonight. Professor Dumbledore has requested that you have an easy punishment," Snape sneered, nostrils flaring in displeasure.

"So you will be doing lines for me tonight. How nice that you regrew all of your bones. Remind me to congratulate you on your _stellar _performance last Saturday."

"How many times…Professor?"

"Until I tell you to stop, Potter. Oh, and no…not with your quill. I shall provide adequate materials."

Snape passed Michael a long, black quill with a razor-sharp point.

"Self-inking quill, Potter," Severus replied in answer to Michael's confused look. His twisted smile boded ill. Michael reached for the prepared parchment and poised the quill over the vellum.

"I want you to write: '"I will always follow directions and must not disobey my superiors.'"

Michael pressed his lips together and nodded tersely. He picked up the quill and took a closer look at the dangerously sharp point. Michael set the quill to parchment and scrawled away. As he wrote, a searing pain rushed through his hand. He stopped writing and watched as droplets of scarlet blood littered the parchment. His green eyes met Severus' black ones, the latter pair which was glinting strangely. Michael decided not to comment and bent his head back down to his task. Again and again he wrote, and deeper and deeper the cuts on his hand became. Within half an hour, the deep cuts were smarting and Michael was biting his tongue to keep silent.

Three hours later, Severus loomed like a large, overgrown bat and surveyed the result. Michael's handwriting was nearly unintelligible from the splatter of blood.

"That shall suffice this time, Potter. You can go."

Michael picked his heavy schoolbag up with his left hand and left quietly. He hid his hand inside his sleeve and wrapped the black fabric against the freely-bleeding cuts. As he walked up the flights of stairs, his mind blanked out and he walked robotically.

"Michael, do watch where you're going!" Minerva's brisk tone cut through his thoughts and Michael jerked to find his mother gazing at him sternly.

"Sorry Professor," Michael said and shoved his bleeding hand into his pockets. Minerva surveyed him briefly and nodded tersely.

"Better go along to bed, Michael. What is…?"

Michael's eyes automatically went to his pocket. A dark stain was spreading smoothly over the black fabric of his robes.

"N-n-nothing," he stammered. Minerva jerked his arm up and brought his hand to her eyes. A look of revulsion crossed her face.

"_What. Is. This._" Minerva growled.

"Er…"

"You just came from your detention with Professor Snape, did you?"

"Yes," he whispered. His green eyes met hers worriedly. He tried tugging his hand out of her grip, but she held it in an iron grasp. "Please let me go…it's nothing really. Just a cut."

"Just a _cut_?" Minerva challenged in a deadly voice. She brought out her handkerchief and wiped up the trail of scarlet blood from her son's pale forearm. Her lips were set in a thin, furious line. In her mind, she was seething from the fact that Severus had used Blood Quills to punish Michael. Minerva passed her wand over Michael's hand and the deep cuts healed themselves. A faint, very faint scar remained slightly raised over his skin.

Michael took a look at his newly healed hand. He withdrew his hand and clenched it into an experimental fist. It did not hurt. Much.

"Thanks, Mum," he replied quietly. "Please don't go to Professor Snape or Dad…let me handle this by myself.

"Oh, Michael," Minerva whispered, lowering herself to his height. She brushed her cool palm against his cheek and traced his eyes. "You don't have to fight all your battles by yourself…"

"For this one, yes, I do. Good night…Professor. See you in the morning."

Minerva did not say anything. She watched as Michael walked to the end of the hall. A tiny smile of pride graced her lips as she recognized her proud stature reflected in her son's posture.

/-/-/

The next morning, Minerva woke up and blinked to see Albus watching her with a sweet smile on his face.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love," he said quietly. He moved closer to her and brought out a bouquet of red roses and lilies. He sat by her bed and stroked her soft skin, still warm from sleep.

"Oh, Albus, thank you. They're lovely…" Minerva breathed in the heavenly scent and smiled softly at her beloved husband. "Have you been watching me for a long time?"

"No, not too long…and it's never too long to watch you, Minerva. I could stare into you for eternity."

Minerva chuckled and pecked him on the cheek.

"My dear, it seems as though Valentine's Day has infiltrated your already sentimental mind."

"Twenty years counting today, my love. Don't you remember?"

"Always, Albus."

Minerva rose and charmed a vase to hold the fragrant roses. Her sylph-like body almost floated with grace. Albus watched her with a small, devilish smile on his lips. Minerva spoke, without turning her back:

"Darling, _do _do something about your eyes. They're about to pop out of your head. It would be rather a mess to clean up, you know…"

Albus laughed outright and caught her to him. He twirled her around and kissed her passionately.

"I. Can't. Help. Myself." He murmured between soft kisses. Minerva's lips curved into a smile and her arms wound around him.

"Now, Al…please go. You do distract me so. I need to prepare myself…"

"Ah yes, as dear Gilderoy's date I recall?"

Minerva cringed and scowled briefly. Her smile returned shortly though, and she patted his cheek.

"Will you promise to make it up to me later?" Minerva whispered seductively. She chuckled and pushed away, carrying with her a decidedly unorthodox set of brilliant green robes.

/-/-/

Michael walked with Ron and Hermione to the Great Hall. The first thing that hit their eyes was a literal handful of pink confetti. Ron employed some very impressive swear words and Michael could not help but suspect Minerva winked at the trio. Michael passed Minerva and murmured a quiet "Morning, Professor" to her. He grinned when he saw his mother's usual green robes contrast starkly with the pink background.

Ron guffawed when he saw Lockhart approach Minerva with a false smile plastered over his face. Michael swiveled around in time to see Minerva accept Lockhart's arm with a lock jawed smile. Lockhart was also wearing green, much to Hermione's surprise. Minerva and Lockhart led the way to the staff table and as soon as Lockhart pulled out Minerva's chair, she sat down smartly and refused to look at him again.

"Blimey, Professor McGonagall! She sure does look disgusted with that smarmy bloke, doesn't she?" Ron was grinning at Minerva admiringly.

Fred leaned over and hissed: "Lockhart looks really pleased though. Today's going to be so fun…"

Hermione just shook her head. "Boys," she muttered.

/-/-/

Up at the staff table, Albus was cracking jokes merrily with Professor Flitwick. However, he could not help glancing periodically at Minerva, who looked quite unhappy to be sandwiched between Lockhart and Snape. Snape was wearing his usual black and somehow seemed to be glaring at Minerva, though she had kept her promise to Michael and had not uttered a word of his detention punishment to anybody.

"Oh, Minerva, care for some sugar cookies?" Lockhart asked breathily, wafting the platter right under her nose.

"No, thank you, Gilderoy. I prefer Ginger Newts. There doesn't seem to be any here…"

"Oh, not a worry, I shall summon…_DOBBY!_" Lockhart bellowed, making Minerva jump in her seat and Snape scowl even more darkly.

"Yes, Professor Lamehead sir? I mean…Lockhart, sir?" Dobby bowed low and Minerva suppressed a grin as she felt Albus' benevolent gaze upon the little elf.

Lockhart had evidently not heard Dobby's slip, or he had simply chosen to ignore it.

"A platter of Ginger Newts for the lady please, dear Dobby."

"Of course, Professor," Dobby replied. "Anything for Professor Deputy McGonagall." And with that, he Disapparated with a pop.

"Thank you, Dobby," Minerva said politely as she accepted the small plate of her favorite delicacies. Dobby smiled at her and squeaked:

"Dobby is happy to be of service to kind Deputy, miss." Minerva blushed and smiled.

/-/-/

As soon as breakfast cleared, the students left the Great Hall to spend their rare study-free Saturdays in the weak February sunlight. Minerva also rose and approached Albus for their usual chess game.

"Hello Albus. Care for a game of chess?"

"Oh, that would be quite enjoyable, my dear. But what about…Professor Lockhart?"

Minerva's face shadowed slightly as she looked toward the golden-haired dunderhead now engaged in a monologue with Severus, who was looking murderous.

"He'll be all right," she said quietly. She smiled a little more brightly. "He isn't…distracted very easily."

"Oh, but you are obviously the exception, aren't you, my dear…Minerva?"

Minerva snorted. Albus grinned at her intimately.

"Is he not a very precious gem to you as he clearly is to the rest of Hogwarts' female staff?"

Minerva lifted her nose derisively. "Och, nay, I think not. He is only cut and polished comparatively."

Albus chuckled deeply and offered her his arm.

"Lead the way to our chess game, my dear."

**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review. Extra ginger newts to anyone who can identify the Downton Abbey reference! :) **


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I think some of the events may be out of order, but it won't seriously detract from the flow of the story. I hope… As always, hope you enjoy and review!

Minerva took her husband's arm and glided with him to the outside of the Great Hall. She cringed when she saw the lurid pinkness of the banisters and edged away from the gaudy decoration. Albus smiled and turned her so she was facing him. He made sure they were quite alone before wrapping her in his arms and leaning closer to her.

"Your cheeks are pink, Minerva. Are you blushing?"

"We are here, Albus…not…don't…now."

"Darling," Albus murmured, very quietly. "do you not know that Valentine's Day is the day for lovers?"

"Er…yes, but…"

"You are my white queen."

Minerva stared into his piercing blue eyes; her emerald green ones were starting to crinkle in amusement. She placed her palms on his chest and distanced herself a little more.

"Don't flirt with me."

"I thought you liked it…"

"Not when you're cheeky."

Albus smiled and took her cool hand in his. They walked the rest of the way to the Headmaster's office and ascended the swirling staircase. Just before Minerva opened the door, Albus swooped down and gathered Minerva into his arms. Minerva let out a very un-characteristic squeal and giggled before the door shut.

/-/-/

"Filius, my dear man, do you know where Minerva has gone?" Lockhart was meanwhile inquiring about Minerva's whereabouts. Professor Flitwick merely looked at Lockhart disparagingly before he shook his head and moved away. Lockhart sighed. He really had hoped Minerva would stay for the entire meal, but she apparently had gone away with the Headmaster.

Back in the Headmaster's office, Minerva was laughing happily, delighted that she had won her third match from Albus. Albus was also having a wonderful time; he loved hearing his Minerva's enchanting laugh.

"This has been the best Valentine's Day ever, Al. I hadn't thought today would be like this at all."

"Wait, my dear. I have something for you."

Minerva watched as Albus swept over to his cabinets. He pulled out a small box and returned to her side. Minerva took it, looking eagerly at what was inside. Albus grinned and charmed the box open. Inside, there were two small animals, a phoenix and a kitten. Minerva gasped; it was so sweet of Albus to give her a gift.

"Oh my darling…even after those lovely roses…"

"I still can find ways to flatter you everyday…" Albus murmured, taking her slender hands in his. He remained kneeling at her feet; Minerva smiled brightly at him, smiling her special smile that he so loved. She leaned closer. Albus closed his eyes, breathing in her faint heather and lily perfume.

Their lips were just a centimetre apart from melting together when someone knocked quite insistently on the door. Minerva jerked her hands away from Albus and stood up. Albus also rose to his feet.

"Enter," Albus replied with a touch of irritation in his voice.

/-/-/

Severus' thin frame filled the doorway. Minerva tried not to show her shock except a slight widening of her eyes gave her away. He sneered and looked between Albus and Minerva. Roses filled a nearby vase; Albus looked rather flushed.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Headmaster," Snape started, "but _Professor Lockart _insisted on coming to get Minerva. Seems as though he's quite smitten with you, Minerva…how very feline-like your charm is…"

Minerva glared at Severus and Lockhart, the latter of whom smiled at her.

"Minerva, my dear, the students are missing you. Perhaps I could escort you…?"

"Thank you, Gilderoy, but no. As I am perfectly capable of walking myself down to the Great Hall, I see no need for you to fuss over me. Really, you have been…quite attentive today."

Professor Lockhart evidently considered her acerbic remark a flattering compliment. He gave a little bow and retreated, flashing his dazzling smile at Minerva.

"Just until the end of the day, Minnie, my dear! Then I'm afraid…" The swirling staircase cut his response short and Minerva breathed through her flared nostrils. The golden dunderhead. Was. INSUFFERABLE.

"Severus, I thank you for coming," Albus eventually said, to break the nasty silence that permeated his office. "There are a few things that I must discuss with you."

"Of course. Minerva, aren't you going to return to the Great Hall?" Severus smirked, seeing Minerva clench her trembling hands.

"Y-yes, I am just going. Good day, Severus…Albus."

/-/-/

As Minerva walked through the third floor corridor, she noticed a large queue of students milling around what looked like a prone body. She lengthened her stride and came upon the anxious students. They scattered when they saw her infamous glare smoldering down at them, though in reality, her scowl was due to worry. What she saw made her heart clench in fear.

Colin Creevey was lying spread-eagled upon the cold stone floor. His pale hands clutched his camera stiffly. Minerva bent down, oblivious to the chatter that rose unintelligibly around her. Her long fingers touched his cold skin, as cold as death, she noted, and she tried removing the camera from the vise-like grip. Finally jerking out of her dazed mind, she sent Ginny, who looked as shocked as she did, to go get Albus. Ginny took off, light on her feet, and Minerva shooed off the rest of the students.

Minerva remained kneeling at the small boy's side. As she stared into the boy's wide, fear-filled eyes, her keen eyes took in his rigid posture. Something was strange…was he…?

/-/-/-/-/

"Minerva!" Albus' great, sweeping form came hurrying to her. Minerva rose unsteadily and clutched her husband's arm. But she immediately let him go after seeing Severus and Lockhart glide over as well. She trained her eyes on the prone boy at the floor and addressed her fellow colleagues in a monotone.

"Mr. Creevey was found by a group of students, Headmaster. Apparently, he did not know that Mr. Potter was released from the hospital wing a few days ago; he was going to visit Potter in the hospital. He was carrying his camera…no doubt to capture another picture of something…gruesome."

Albus did not answer Minerva immediately; his nose was barely an inch from Colin's camera. Snape watched impassively while Lockhart babbled on.

"It was definitely a curse that killed him; poor, poor boy. Probably the Transmogrifian curse—I've seen it done many times, so unlucky I wasn't there. I know the very countercurse that would have saved him…"

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Minerva's ragged breathing and Severus' muttered incantations. Albus finally straightened up from examining Colin and faced the other two teachers.

"Colin is not dead, Gilderoy," he said softly. ("Ah! I thought so!") "He has been Petrified."

"But, Albus," Minerva whispered, "surely…who?"

Albus surveyed her gravely and between their eyes passed a channel of mutual disbelief.

"The question is not of _who_, Minerva…but of _how_…"

As the moonlight fell upon Minerva's face, Albus could see her puzzled expression staring right back at his own.

/-/-/-/-/

"If I might speak…Headmaster?" Severus drawled smoothly. "I myself have my own hypotheses. You see…Mr. Creevey was on his way to see Mr. Potter, was he not? Perhaps it would be more…prudent to ask Mr. Potter if he has any…recollection of the incident."

Minerva started angrily. "Potter was nowhere near the scene, Severus! As you know already, having had him imprisoned in detention!" Her eyes snapped flames and she stood her ground. Severus curled his lip and bored his eyes into hers. Minerva's chest was heaving with the effort of keeping her temper in check. Albus discreetly brushed his hand on her arm in warning. Lockhart was effectively ignored.

"No second year could have been able to pull off such advanced Dark Magic, Severus," Albus spoke firmly."

Severus' face turned a nasty brick red. "Why don't you prove it, Dumbledore?" he spat.

Albus faced him calmly. "Time will prove itself, Severus. In the meantime…innocent until proven guilty."

Lockhart meanwhile attempted to draw attention to himself and stood up proudly.

"Headmaster, you needn't worry, I can whip up a Mandrake restorative potion in no time and give it to Mr. Creevey. I will go…"

"Excuse me," Severus bit out icily. "But I do believe _I _am the Potions master here at Hogwarts."

Lockhart's smile faded a little. "Of—of course, Professor Snape."

"Thank you, Gilderoy, you may attend to your cherubs now." Minerva spoke with a tone of finality that seemed to emanate a chill.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I'm so sorry about this almost obscenely long gap since I've updated. Gotten over my massive writer's block and here I am again. As always, I hope you enjoy. I appreciate all feedback! :D

Months passed and the news that Colin Creevey was Petrified still had not died down. Draco Malfoy was particularly keen on learning who the culprit behind the attack was, and naturally, he targeted Michael as his prime suspect.

"You see," he had drawled. "the culprit obviously had a grudge against that mudblood Creevey. So naturally…the culprit retaliated. Pity he wasn't sent back to where he belongs."

Draco sneered and shoved his shoulder into Michael. Michael stood his ground and kept his head high, though his ears were ringing from the thuggish laughter of Crabbe and Goyle. Ron was by his side, muttering darkly and using some language that would surely have earned him a shrieking reprimand from his mother.

"Never mind, Harry," Hermione said bracingly. She touched his arm lightly and steered the two boys toward the library. "We really ought to start working on those essays for Lockhart and Professor Snape."

Ron came to his senses long enough to scoff: "Oh, please, 'Mione. That essay was easy. All you had to do is lay the compliments on thick and praise Lockhart for defeating that banshee for the twentieth time."

Hermione turned scarlet. She whipped her arm away from Michael and ran up the stone steps to the castle.

"Now really, Ron… was that necessary?"

"Shut up, Harry." Ron returned to his bad mood and prodded the stubborn patch of crabgrass with his toe.

"C'mon, we'd better get a move on with Snape's essay."

Ron grunted.

/-/-/

The sky was slate gray and Michael's mood was hardly better. He threw his quill down, thoroughly disgusted by his lack of productivity. Once more, he was the last one in the common room; Ron was upstairs in the dormitories, snoring. The fire had dwindled down and Michael shivered slightly. Eyeing his pitifully incomplete essay, he decided to make a trip to the library and research information for Snape's essay. If he didn't have something to turn in by tomorrow, he'd be in with detention for Snape next.

Ten minutes later, Michael quietly slipped out of the portrait hole and stepped lightly on the stone floor. He made his way to the fourth floor corridor, but abruptly stopped. Someone was sobbing haltingly in the bathroom and as he stood, Michael could see water pooling around his feet. He lifted the hems of his robes and gingerly stepped forward.

"H-hello?" Michael whispered, shoving his Invisibility Cloak in his pocket. He heard no response except for an increased volume in the sniffles. Then, he stopped short.

It was the girl's bathroom. But his instinct took over his initial aversion and he stepped cautiously into the room. It was flooded with water and the source of the sobs, as he soon realized, were coming from a locked stall.

"Are you all right?" he asked, knocking gently on the door.

"NO, I am not!" A shrill voice startled him backwards a few paces and the pearly opaque ghost of a bespectacled girl, about his age, floated through the stall. Michael gulped.

"S-sorry, I just thought I heard crying. I'll…go then."

"Ooh, you're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

The girl suddenly smiled a watery smile and inched closer to Michael. Michael tensed and nodded.

"Well… some people do know me by that name. What's your name?" He asked politely to change the subject.

"Myrtle Stebbins," she giggled. "Oh, but I'm more well known as _Miserable, Moping, Moaning Myrtle_!" Her face puckered into a sulky frown.

"Oh," he managed. "Well, it is nice to meet you… Myrtle. Why were you crying?"

"Here I was, minding my business down in the U-bend when someone thinks it's _funny _to throw a book at me," she fussed, pouting.

Michael blinked. Really, girls were so weird sometimes!

"It fell out through my head and is right there," Myrtle muttered, pointing at the small black book lying sodden in a puddle.

Michael crossed the drenched floor slowly and leaned down to pick up the small, handsomely bound leather book. Flipping through the yellowed parchment pages, he could tell that it was a diary of some sort.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" Michael automatically turned to Myrtle and met her silvery-opaque blushing cheeks.

"Thank you for visiting. It does get rather lonely here and it's so nice to have you as a visitor."

Michael blanked out for a second and then nodded.

"Thanks, Myrtle. I'll be sure to… visit you sometime."

/-/-/

Back in his dormitory, Michael flipped through the pages and was surprised to see that the pages remained absolutely dry even though the covers of the book were soaked. He also noted that there was nothing written in it, not even a "Dentist appointment at 3" or "Auntie Mabel's birthday." He touched the smooth leather cover and decidedly uncorked his new bottle of black ink.

Poising his quill above the pages, he paused to think. Just what, and how, did this diary land in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom? Who threw it? He hoped by writing down his jumbled thoughts, he could come to some conclusion.

A drop of ink splashed onto the cream colored page. Michael jerked out of his stance and was shocked to see that there appeared to be no ink stain. He riffled through the rest of the pages but it was as clean as newly bought parchment.

Today's been a weird day. Michael wrote, scrawling ink over his words. Just as the ink splotch had previously disappeared, his sentence also faded. But this time, more words reappeared, written in a strange hand but in his ink.

Has it, my friend? Well, I'm certainly no stranger to strange days. How did you come by this diary?

Someone threw it at Moaning Myrtle's head in the girl's lavatory. I just got it. Who are you and how can you write to me?

My name is Tom Riddle. I am a memory preserved in my diary… this diary. Now, may I know your name? You are not the first to come by my diary. Someone had it before you, after all.

It's good to meet you, Tom. My real name is Michael Theo Dumbledore, but wizards know me as Harry Potter.

I am most pleased to meet you, Harry Potter. You say your last name is "Dumbledore"? How can that be, if you'll please forgive me for asking.

Well, not many people know this, but I am actually Albus Dumbledore's son. Weird as that may sound. How can you be a memory?

When I was at school, a most terrible thing happened. Something was unleashed from somewhere and a few people got Petrified. I was the one who caught the culprit. I was awarded a bronze shield for Outstanding Services to the School.

Really? Something just like that is happening now at Hogwarts.

Ah, well, history does have the tendency to repeat itself. Would you be interested in knowing how I caught the cuprit?

Yeah.

Let me take you back fifty years.

Michael slumped back in his chair and rubbed his fatigued eyes. He was just about to close the clean diary again when an unexpected gust of wind made the delicate pages flap to the very end. Michael sat up in shock and brought the book closer to his eyes. His eyes followed the blinding ray of light…it engulfed him… what was this…?

BAM. Michael felt himself slam into stone as he shakily resumed his footing. Standing right next to him was a very good-looking teenage boy, who looked to be around sixteen to seventeen.

"Sorry," Michael mumbled and started to leave. The boy made no indication that he heard Michael. Instead, the boy stared straight through Michael at someone who was coming up behind Michael. Michael tilted his head slightly in confusion, wondering why this was happening.

"Riddle, what are you doing here? It is not your night to patrol."

A tall, thin girl with dark hair and pale skin appraised the boy—Riddle was his name—with unmistakable contempt.

"I am just as entitled to roam the castle as you are, Minerva McGonagall…"

Michael stifled a gasp and swiveled around to see his teenage mother's eyes flashing ominously at the boy.

"Hogwarts is a large castle, McGonagall, and for this reason, Dumbledore appointed several prefects to oversee the security of the castle. I am one of them…as are you."

Riddle sneered and walked right _through _Michael toward Minerva. Michael gaped at the two of them. He had to be in some sort of memory, where he was little more than a ghost. His teenage mother did not back down to Riddle.

"A girl, Myrtle Stebbins, has just been killed, Riddle, and I must stress the importance of finding out the culprit behind these attacks. Do you have any idea how serious this is?"

"Indeed I do, McGonagall, and I have a well-supported hypothesis as to who it may be."

Minerva raised a skeptical eyebrow. She tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear and nodded tersely for Riddle to continue.

"Do you, Riddle?" she asked quietly, in a challenge.

"Yes, I do. You see... it was Rubeus Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall," Riddle replied smoothly. "I heard he is always breeding some vicious monster underneath his bed. No doubt the beast escaped this time…"

"That is preposterous. How dare you proclaim such illogical evidence," Minerva breathed, shaking with rage. "Rubeus is my friend. I trust him. He wouldn't hurt anybody intentionally. Besides," she continued, glaring at Riddle. "Professor Dumbledore knows that the cause of Myrtle's death was not brought on by acromantulas.

"Do you really think old Dumbledore is quite right this time, Minerva?" Riddle challenged. "He seems to be losing his touch if you ask me."

"You have no proof, Riddle. And a claim without evidence is the most logical fallacy."

Riddle smiled lazily. He flicked his dark eyes toward Minerva's blazing green ones and laughed softly, ridiculing her.

"Go on and run to your master, Minerva. I'm sure he will reward you for your news. What will it be? A passionate night with the Deputy Headmaster?"

"Don't be disgusting, Riddle," Minerva replied coldly. She turned on her heel and Riddle smiled smugly.

Michael opened his mouth in silent shock and watched as his mother and Riddle faded from his sight. He stretched out his arm, as though desperately clutching at the dissipating memory.

The memory ended with a burst of bright white light and Michael rose, shaking.

A/N: I know, I know. Too inexcusably short for such a long time gap. But hopefully the next update will come faster.


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, Michael sat lethargically and stared absently at his toast and kippers. Ron, as ever, ate with gusto while Hermione immersed herself in Professor McGonagall's readings.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked anxiously, finally looking up at him. He raised unfocused eyes and attempted a weak smile. His eyes drifted toward Minerva and Albus, who both noticed his gaze. Michael quickly lowered his eyes and took a small, unenthusiastic bite of toast.

"Yeah, fine," Michael muttered. He flicked his eyes in his mother's direction but she was engaged in a quiet conversation with his father. "Hey, listen Hermione, Ron. Have you…either of you ever heard of a certain Chamber of Secrets?"

"Wha?" Ron said with his mouth full.

"Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione looked skeptical. She shrugged and looked at Michael staring at Professor Dumbledore again. "Why do you ask, Harry?"

"Because," Michael murmured. "I think the culprit behind these attacks has something to do with this mysterious Chamber."

/-/-/

"Now, who can tell me the elements of arbitrary Transfiguration?" Minerva's crisp voice rang clearly throughout the classroom.

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot up. Behind her back, Draco Malfoy did a rude impersonation of her as a squirrel leaping up. Minerva gave Draco a cold, quelling look and nodded tersely to Hermione.

"The elements of arbitrary Transfiguration include the summoning of water…"

And the rest of the class zoned out after that.

After five minutes, the class was jerked back awake by Professor McGonagall's laconic, precise response.

"Very good, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. Now…"

"Er, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," Minerva replied.

"I wondered if…you might tell us about the…the Chamber of Secrets?"

Michael shot a quick look at Hermione and then switched his eyes to his mother. He noted that her nostrils were flared and the skin around her eyes taut and white.

Minerva raised her eyebrow almost imperceptibly in Michael's direction. She cleared her throat and faced the class, who now gave her their rapt attention.

"Very well," she managed. "Now, as you all know, Hogwarts was founded by four of the greatest leaders in Magical History: Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and… Salazar Slytherin."

A faint, very faint note of distaste edged the last two words.

"The four friends had gotten along well for a very long time, until a time came when Slytherin thought there had to be a more rigorous, selective method in choosing his students. A rift appeared between him and his friends, until one day he left the school, vowing to come with revenge. He explored the hidden depths of Hogwarts and sealed a so-called chamber off. He claims that only his true heir will be able to access the chamber…and release the horror within."

Wide eyes and pale faces greeted the end of Minerva's speech. Her sharp eyes roamed over the class, lingering for a moment longer on Michael's face, before straightening her papers and setting them neatly on her desk.

"Of course, that is the history. But _no such chamber _has ever been found."

"I would like you all to write an essay on employing the methods of arbitrary transfiguration, two rolls of parchment, to be turned in on Thursday. Good afternoon."

A flurry of activity ensued as the second year Gryffindors and Slytherins cleared out. Minerva looked up quickly and noticed the trio packing their things.

"Mr. Potter. A word please."

She nodded to Hermione and Ron and stared at them pointedly. They both got the hint and left the classroom. However, they stopped outside the door and waited for Michael.

"Ron, really, we should be…"

"Oh shut up, 'Mione. I wanna hear what McGonagall has to say to Harry. And…we better wait for him too."

Hermione sighed resignedly but consented to sit with her back to the wall, immersing herself in another book.

/-/-/

Meanwhile, back in the classroom, Minerva decided that, intuitively, Michael's friends would be waiting for him outside. Thus, she refrained from using his real name. Instead she addressed him as normal.

"Potter," she began.

Michael knew she had intent for addressing him so coldly. He also knew that she knew Ron and Hermione were outside. Best to let their secret remain a secret then.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," he replied politely.

She smiled thinly and gestured for him to pull a chair in front of her desk. He did so and waited for her to continue.

"How did you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Ah…" Michael was brought up short. How could he tell his mother the truth without revealing how he got the diary?

"Well?"

"Someone…told me."

Well, at least that was partly the truth. Michael watched nervously as his mother worked right through the lie he had told her.

"The Chamber has not been opened since fifty years ago. I doubt your friends are old enough to know about it."

"In a diary…I found."

"A diary?"

"And a memory…"

Minerva drew in a sudden, sharp breath as she comprehended what he was telling her.

"Potter. Where. Did. You. Get. The. Diary?"

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Minerva couldn't speak. She wordlessly motioned him out and after the door shut gently, she sank into her chair, legs trembling.

/-/-/

That night, Minerva lay awake for a very long time. She tried to keep still so as not to disturb Albus' slumber. Outside, an owl hooted softly and flew to the window. The moonlight cast a dark shadow in the room. Closing her eyes, Minerva drifted off into sleep.

Memories chased each other in her mind. Minerva attempted to empty her mind, employ Legilimency, but to no avail. Restlessly, she turned in bed. Tom Riddle's jeering, teenage face filled her mind.

_Believe me if you will, McGonagall, but I have my confidants. It was Hagrid… Hagrid opened the Chamber… what'll it be? A passionate night with…_

"NOOOOOOO!"

Minerva jerked awake and turned wild eyes to her concerned husband. Albus sat up quickly and drew her into his arms.

"Darling, it was a nightmare. Shhh, you're safe. I'm here."

"Al-Albus," Minerva choked. She felt embarrassed and suddenly very childlike. She wrapped her arms tighter around Albus and listened to his deep breathing and heartbeat.

"Albus, it's the same one, over and over. Riddle mocking me…us. The night the Chamber was opened…"

Minerva continued to speak through broken phrases and a tight voice. Slowly, the entire tale of the previous afternoon began to unfold. Albus stroked her hair and murmured quietly.

"And why would our son be lurking in the girl's bathroom? Myrtle's bathroom, no less?"

Minerva could feel the vibration of his deep chuckle coming from his chest. In her indignant state, she turned watery, furious eyes to her husband.

"Albus Dumbledore, how dare you find this amusing?"

Albus pressed his lips together and stopped smiling. He brought his long-fingered hand to Minerva's hair and tentatively smoothed back a stray lock of black hair. She dropped her head and pressed her cheek to his chest.

"Worse than getting his hands on that diary is that he saw the memory," Minerva whispered miserably. Her worried green eyes met Albus' piercing blue ones and found something in the latter pair. Sympathy, chagrin, or pity? It was hard to tell.

"Wrongly accused, poor Hagrid," Albus murmured. He drew Minerva into a comforting embrace and gently soothed her.

"And poor Myrtle dead because of it. She was never my favorite, yet somehow, she was a Gryffindor as well."

"A loss, of course," Albus said. He continued rocking Minerva until she nearly fell asleep.

"Minerva, I…I have to tell you something. Promise me you…won't be upset."

"Mmm, darling…what is it?"

"I will be leaving for a period of time. I need your help in securing the walls of Hogwarts."

Minerva's sleepy mind slowly worked through what he said.

"You are…what? Leaving? How could you, Albus, at a time like this?"

"I must, Minerva, if we are to keep our family a secret and protect Michael. Let me finish. I want Severus to help you… ah, I know you resent the man because of his hatred of Michael, but I must insist. Severus is knowledgeable and witty enough to protect you too."

"I don't need his bloody protection," Minerva muttered.

"For me, Minerva. Do this for me."

Minerva sighed and brought her clear gaze now to Albus'. She traced a long finger down his aged cheek and brought his face closer to hers.

"When will you come back…to me?" Minerva breathed. Albus swallowed and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"As soon as I am able, my dear. Be strong…not only for my sake but for the sake of others."

Minerva understood.

A/N: Okay, I'm sorry about the long delay. -hides in box- I'm actually kind of stuck on where to go from here, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to PM me! -cough review too cough- xD


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: All right. I admit it. It's been ridiculously long since I've updated this story. I'M SORRY! Life gets in the way. I promise you I haven't forgotten about this story, and I do not intend to abandon it. I will keep updating…just when school starts, updates might come slower. Anyway, still hope you enjoy, and please review! Min/Sev shippers, please don't flame me (to a crisp) for the little angsty scene I've included in this chapter.

* * *

><p>Minerva woke the next morning with a dull ache in her heart. She felt the soft warmth of morning sunlight on her face, but she kept her eyes closed. Turning on her side to hug Albus' pillow, she opened her eyes with a start. Of course. Albus had left her. Left her and Severus Snape to run Hogwarts.<p>

She sighed as she slowly rose from her bed and began to dress herself. Now with Albus gone to Merlin knew where, she was the Headmistress.

As she passed through the hallways to enter Albus' office, where she had to clear through some papers…as well as answer to the load of letters coming from frantic parents, she noticed Severus coming from the opposite direction.

"Severus, what are you doing here?"

"Professor Dumbledore alerted me to my duties very early this morning, Minerva," Severus replied quietly. "So I believe it would be prudent if we left our differences behind and lent a helping hand to each other…"

Minerva bit her lip and nodded curtly. She swept past him and clapped her hands together once. The stone gargoyles leapt apart immediately.

Severus followed her up the swirling staircase. Minerva had her hand on the doorknob when Severus stopped her with a vise-like grip on her arm and forced her tilted chin upwards to meet his black eyes.

"Minerva, as much as I detest this position that your…husband has shoved us both into, we must put up for the sake of our school. You will cooperate with me, is this understood?" he hissed.

Minerva looked calmly into his smoldering black eyes and freed her chin and arm from his iron grasp.

"You will do well to remember that I was your professor, Severus, and that I do not put up with orders."

Severus' lip curled.

"Well, Professor McGonagall, you certainly can bend to the orders of Albus Dumbledore!"

"He is my husband, and it is my duty to obey him," Minerva replied evenly.

"And I am your colleague!" Snape snapped in a sudden burst of anger. Instantly, he regretted saying so. Minerva's eyes flashed dangerously.

She bored her emerald colored eyes into Severus' dark ones and something within the latter pair seemed to flicker.

"Yes," she said in a very quiet voice. "You are my colleague."

"I'm sorry Lil-." Severus stopped himself from uttering the name and flushed dark scarlet. He dropped his gaze from those piercing eyes and stared at the floor. Minerva knew that he had been reminded painfully of Lily Evans when he stared into her eyes. Her expression did not change but her eyes grew unmistakably sadder. She could always read his emotions easily. She saw at that moment in the man's place a shy and insecure young boy of eleven who was in love with Lily Evans. Severus looked up again and now his face darkened in anger. Anger not directed at her, but for her. He was angry for her because Albus had left her in such a time as this.

"Severus. I'm sorry."

"Why should you be sorry?" Severus muttered, glaring into her intense, beautiful eyes. Minerva looked away and ran her long fingers over the carved lion on the ornate doorknob. "I should be the one berating myself, Minerva. I shouldn't despise you…you have done so much for me over the years…yet everything…no, your eyes are what remind me of…"

"Lily…" Minerva said softly.

"What I could and can never have," Severus finished. Minerva looked up again and now her eyes had filled with tears. Severus was surprised to see the iron-willed, strong Transfiguration mistress with tears in her icy green eyes.

Severus tilted Minerva's face forward and her back thumped against the carved door. Gently, she realized with a shock, he was wiping her tears away with an odd expression on his face.

"I-I could have given you more but I realized that if I did, your pride was too important to you."

"Like what, Minerva? Love? Care? Friendship?" Severus' voice cracked on the last word. Minerva touched his sleeve gently. Transfiguration Mistress and Potions Master gazed at each other for a long, silent moment.

"You have my promise that we are friends, Severus, despite the acrimony between us," Minerva said softly.

Severus jerked his head in a half-nod, half-shrug. It was his signal that he forgave her.

Something about her was very much like Lily Evans, Severus decided. A somewhat…flame-like quality. That described Minerva McGonagall well enough. Like a flame.

"We will commence our duties by compromise. With respect, Professor Snape. What say you?"

"Very well.

* * *

><p>As Minerva and Severus made their way down to breakfast at the Great Hall, both of them were silent and preoccupied with their thoughts. Minerva, as an old habit, glanced at the Headmaster's chair at the High Table and threw a startled look at Severus.<p>

"You are the Headmistress now, Professor McGonagall," he reminded her.

Of course. Minerva took a deep breath and strode briskly into the Great Hall. Taking her seat in her husband's chair, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Severus sit down next to her and ignore Professor Lockhart's cheery greeting.

"You'll be fine, Minerva," Severus said.

Minerva gave him a barely perceptible half-smile before addressing the students.

"Good morning. May I have your attention please?"

The students looked up at their Headmistress raptly; some were looking around curiously for Professor Dumbledore.

"While I do have a few announcements, for the time being, I would like you all to enjoy breakfast."

Minerva caught sight of her son Michael quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at her. She nodded to him and took her seat again.

"Goood morning, Headmistress McGonagall! Where is dear Professor Dumbledore?" Lockhart twittered, leaning over Severus' plate to gaze at Minerva.

Severus scowled and Minerva bit the inside of her cheek. She had no idea her new "title" sounded so loathsome in Lockhart's voice.

"Morning, Gilderoy," she replied in a clipped tone, choosing not the answer his question.

"Sausages, Minerva? Toast? Kippers?"

"No, thank you," she replied coldly.

She took a sip of pumpkin juice and scanned the Daily Prophet that was dropped in front of her. Stroking Apollo, her family owl, she flipped the newspaper to the back and saw, to her surprise, Albus smiling at her encouragingly as he stood next to a very agitated Fudge.

She couldn't bear to see Albus' gentle smile at a time like this. She finished the rest of her pumpkin juice in silence and stared at her plate in deep thought as she waited for the rest of the teachers and students to finish their breakfasts.

* * *

><p>Even in the midst of all this turmoil, Minerva was not exempt from teaching her classes. As her last class filed in, she brought her weary head from their position between her hands and stood up to address them.<p>

"Good afternoon. I would like you to turn your books to page 395 and proceed to read the chapter on Inanimate Transfiguration."

The class looked curiously at their Professor. Minerva rarely gave her students readings during class, but, dutifully, the class pulled out their books and began to read.

Minerva sighed inaudibly and sat down again, pulling the stack of seventh year essays toward her. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>After class, Minerva had half an hour before she was expected to open dinner at the Great Hall. She had a feeling that Michael would stay behind and true enough, he approached her desk tentatively after the bell had rung signifying the end of class.<p>

"Mum, what's the matter?" Michael asked quietly, taking in the weariness in Minerva's face and touching her shoulder gently.

"It's…nothing, darling. Don't worry about me." Minerva attempted to smile as she stood up and ruffled Michael's hair.

Michael returned her smile hesitantly but still stood in front of her.

"No, Mum, look at me. You once told me I could tell you anything, remember?" Minerva nodded.

"Well…may I ask you now if there is anything…anything you wish to tell me? And…where is Dad?"

"You are truly your father's son, Michael," Minerva said in wonder. She found herself looking into Michael's bright, inquiring eyes and seeing a mirror of Albus' expression. "Your father had to be called away for a very _un_timely Ministry meeting. He has left…Professor Snape in joint charge with me. It won't be forever, dear, and once he gets back, I can assure you everything will return to normal."

"Yes, Professor," Michael said, with a tiny hint of a smile. He turned to go, but suddenly Minerva spoke again.

"Michael, how would you like to have a cup of tea with me in the evening and play some chess?"

"Thanks Mum, that'd be great. I'm afraid I'm not too good at chess though…"

Minerva chuckled softly.

"I can teach you, Mikes. Eight thirty in my office then."

* * *

><p>"All students are to report to their dormitories prior to 9 o'clock. All students are to be escorted by a teacher when transitioning between classes. There will be no exceptions."<p>

Minerva and Severus stood amidst the confused swarm of students hurrying to get to their dormitories. Minerva caught a glimpse of Michael's pale face among the crowd as he craned to look at her. She met his worried green eyes with a reassuring glance. _Come to my office later_, her eyes silently told him. Michael nodded and hurried after Ron and Hermione.

When at last the sounds of thundering footsteps died down, Severus turned his dark gaze to Minerva.

"Time for our patrol, I think," he murmured.

"What?" Minerva asked distractedly. "Oh…yes. Of course."

She abruptly turned away from him and set down the third floor corridor, clenching her wand tightly in her fist. Severus watched her retreating back and set off himself to patrol the opposite side of the castle.

After three hours, Minerva and Severus met again at the fourth floor corridor.

"All seems well," Severus said tersely.

"Yes, very well, Severus. Why don't you go and get some rest now."

Severus nodded and walked past her to return to his rooms.

Minerva stood, lost in thought, until the castle's clocks announced 8:15. She quickly remembered her promise to Michael and strode briskly in the direction of her office. When she arrived at her portrait door,she entered her office and sat back to wait.

At precisely 8:30, there was a quiet knock on her door.

"Come in," came her soft response.

Michael appeared and took in her unusually messy office.

"I hope I am not disturbing you, Mum," he said uncertainly.

"No, not at all, Mikes, do come in and shut the door."

Michael smiled and obediently shut the door with a snap. He saw that she had laid out two cups of steaming tea in front of a waiting chess set.


End file.
